


The Demon You Know

by spacebrock



Series: Stars, Devils, and Symbiotes [3]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Guardians of the Galaxy (Comics), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Venom (Comics), Venom (Movie 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, But It'll Be Fine You'll See!!, Demon, Demons, Halloween, M/M, Multi, Spooky, Supernatural Elements, and so on and so forth more tags to be added over time, in which Matthew M. Murdock is a Litcheral Demon, it's never too early to be.......spooky., spooky halloween
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 67,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26165119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacebrock/pseuds/spacebrock
Summary: Home renovators [and husbands!] Peter Quill and Eddie Brock encounter the spooky and unsettling Murdock House, intending to flip it for profit...but it seems the house [or its singular occupant] will be the one doing the flipping after all...Can true love contend with a demon in the mix? Or have these boys bitten off more than they can chew?
Relationships: Eddie Brock/Matt Murdock/Peter Quill
Series: Stars, Devils, and Symbiotes [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1859026
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20





	1. Try Not to Touch Anything

###  **October was always their busiest month.**

For whatever reason, it usually meant traveling far. Traveling  _ fast _ . And looking into the busted places before Winter came to claim the world and make their lives that much harder for a little while longer.

Autumn’s hand had coaxed color through the treeline of Corning, NY. At the edges of the maples; gild grew in the form of glittering early-morning dew. The scent of crackling woodsmoke somewhere off the beaten path was met with the damp of leaf-mold, the churning earth rustled through by animals looking for somewhere to burrow. Something to eat. The forest was a hungry thing, and by the edge of it, something ravenous settled its foundation deep into the earth.

Murdock House was a massive thing; old stone and fine revivlaist architecture with corinthian columns twirling off toward the sky. Three stories at least, stretching many yards back, its broad silhouette was offset by the trembling birch; whispering ash, and stoic pine that surrounded its territory. One gnarled old oak joined the fray, and the dying willow drooping over the frog-pond swung its limbs in a weary bow of welcome. Murdock House had the air of something that had always tried to look grand, but, at some point, had given up the falsities of finery. 

There was no mistaking the hollowness of the busted windows; the still-shiny, deep red door with its burnished knocker in the shape of a celtic knot. Strange thing, that. The key worked, however, long and elegant as it was, and the threshold admitted [with only one weak groan of protest and a shower of dust] the two men that’d come to call with the graciousness of its age, rather than the emptiness of its body.

Eddie entered first, flashlight in hand, notebook of assessment in the other. Peter followed, ducking instinctively under the doorframe - he’d hit his head enough times to warrant the precaution. One hand lifted a flashlight likewise, and, toolbox and blueprints under an arm, Peter turned in place with a soft whistle, studying the chandelier overhead.

“ _ Wow. _ You weren’t kidding when you said this place had potential, baby.” Eddie’s ears tipped red at the affectionate nickname - even with nobody around but them and whatever spooks stayed put in places like this, he was still so easily-flustered. 

“The woman who sold it; Maggie - she wanted it gone real bad, for whatever reason,” Eddie murmured, one hand falling to the banister running up the sweeping staircase toward the other floors. Everything inside was mahogany the color of chocolate; just two shades above ebony. The marble tiles beneath their feet in the foyer were a black and white chessboard stereotypical for the time; but rarely-seen in revivalist pieces of this magnitude. The tile stretched off down the hall toward - Peter glanced down at the blueprints with a crook of his head; straining in the gloom - the kitchen. And then cut off down by the parlor adjacent on the opposite end.

“Saves us the trouble of dealin’ with a lot of wood rot,” Peter remarked mildly. “But it does nothin’ to tell us where we should start.” Eddie, who’d bent to examine the steps to test their level with a little tool, stood back up, pencil sliding behind an ear. 

“Probably first floor. Work our way up, rather than top down. Avoiding whatever deteriorating infrastructure that gravity and weight will fuck up more.”

“Love it when you talk all professional,” Peter teased, which earned him a reluctantly wry grin, Eddie motioning with his head for Peter to follow.

“Drop your toolbox off on the steps - I told you ya weren’t gonna need it today.” Peter clutched the box with a pout for a moment or two, but did as he was told - laying the box down by the banister’s curve accordingly. Booted feet scuffed at the cobwebs and tumbling dust bunnies as he strolled along, shoulders weaving to unheard music. Green-hazels brightened at the sight of the piano tucked against the back of the stairs, and, with a little flick of his wrist, Peter pried the cover off the keys, plinking away to test the music. It was, shockingly, still in-tune, after all this time. Odd, for someone to leave behind a perfectly-good instrument.

Peter’s eyes shifted from amazed to mischievous, and he opened his mouth -

“‘They hate it when you do that,’” Eddie intoned in a drawl from the back of the massive floor where a grandfather clock stood sentinel; if silent. Peter huffed, shoving the cover back down over the keys before moseying along again.

“Stealin’ my lines,” he mumbled without any real ire to his words. Eddie chuckled, one arm lifting to wrap around Peter’s middle in a squeeze as they set about looking in the first of the rooms.

“It’s okay. You’ll get me back.” Peter’s face softened, and, ducking down, he gently kissed Eddie’s temple, muttering:

“Sure will, baby.”

The first room was, as expected, a wide sitting room with pale pink stripes on the walls. Spectral sheets embraced the furniture, the ribbons of cobwebs lacing between them thick and fluffy, fluttering on the wind of the doorway’s opening. Over the unlit hearth, a portrait hung - not of the lady of the house, as one might expect, but a rich oil painting of Justice herself; blindfolded, a pair of silver and golden scales raised high against the backdrop of stormclouds and war. She was barefoot on a battlefield; framed in black, and the intensity of the image was nothing short of unsettling against the prim and delicate colors otherwise found in the interior.

Eddie’s eyes lingered on the painting as Peter began making his rounds to inspect the room, chasing shadows away under the sweep of his flashlight, studying the windowsill. Despite the fine layer of silt from time and decay, it was still intact. The panes of glass were oddly deafening to the world outside - thicker than one might expect. They must’ve been professionally replaced, at some point. There was no other explanation.

Eddie finally wrested his eyes away from the portrait on the wall, and, turning in place, wandered toward the door to the next room over - throwing it open to reveal a small place where dishes lived; or had lived, at some point. The cabinetry in the tiny space alongside the sitting room was done up in such a way as to promote storage; roomy, accessible, but storage nonetheless. The outlines where plates and serving bowls had once existed were still evident in the stain of the cherry-wood, the scent of spices wafting through the air along with particles of time immemorial.  _ Coriander _ , Eddie thought, furrowing his brow.  _ Maybe something else _ .

“All clear,” Peter called from behind him, and Eddie jumped almost three feet in the air. Peter bit back a grin at the doorway, his scruffy features thoroughly amused. “You think you’d be used to me sneakin’ up on you by now. Or at least more aware of your surroundings. We’ve been doin’ this, what, three years now?” Eddie uncurled his fingers from around where the Star of David bit into his palm, and, tucking it back under his shirt, scowled up at his partner.

“Not my fault you need to wear a bell.” 

“Ohohoho,” Peter scoffed, sauntering across the threshold to join Eddie in the little space between rooms, “not  _ my  _ fault you don’t pay enough attention to me.” One hand sought one of Eddie’s own, regardless, and, tangling their fingers, Peter pulled them up to kiss Eddie’s battered knuckles, smiling warmly. “Kidding. What’s next?”

“Well, we’ve got the dining room adjacent,” Eddie said, absently swinging their hands as he thought it over, mapping out the area he’d memorized in his head earlier. He only had to look at the blueprints once or twice at most, after all, before he had them all stored up inside his brain. Something nearby knocked hollowly, and he paused mid-thought, looking from the shelves to Peter again. “And then there’s - “ It knocked again, whatever it was, and this time, both men looked toward the shelf in question.

It was just an empty place; with a little graveyard of stains where cutlery ought to have been. Eddie, unsettled in a way he couldn’t ever put a finger on, watched the shelves for longer than necessary. The knock didn’t come again, and Eddie mumbled, “probably just the pipes”, which of course felt like the beginning of every single horror movie he’d ever seen [usually from behind a pillow or under Peter’s arm, but that was besides the point]. 

Peter, to his credit, ever the more curious and adventurous one, stuck out his hand to slap the back of the cabinet wall with probing fingers. Eddie froze in asking him  _ not to do that, what if there were poisonous spiders or something  _ when the knock that followed rang hollow.

Looking at one another, Eddie and Peter shared a mix of excitement and nonplussed disbelief.

“No fuckin’ way,” Eddie said slowly.

“YES fuckin’ way,” Peter said gleefully - and, feeling around the wall a bit more, fidgeted in the shadows for a second before - 

There was a  _ click  _ and a  **whoosh,** the cabinet falling backwards in a sagging  _ creak  _ of a door opening - revealing a room  **not** on their blueprints at all, not even considered. They’d been informed, if anything, there were unfinished spaces in the house that had served as storm buffers or barriers. This wasn’t even that, however - 

It was another parlor. 

A round one, of all things, a perfect circle in which an equally-round table sat, still decked-out in a cloth like the world’s largest doily. The walls were a rich emerald, windows lined with gold leaf in intricate measure. They spun and spiraled up either frame, ivy and holly each, drapes of gold and sage tugged back by ropes of bronze, hooked and held up by angel insignias. The hearth was  _ massive,  _ and impossible, where was the chimney for it? Windows as tall as the gargantuan walls stretched in a quartet around the room. The ceiling; inlaid with more gold, was a feast for the eyes - hand-painted depictions of Heaven and Hell from which a small chandelier descended; spiky and shimmering as the falling of the sun. Candelabras stood to attention surrounding the table with its high-backed, mahogany chairs, and the rug underfoot was one of white lilies against a briny sea of brilliant, dizzying threads so colorful and strange it made Eddie’s head hurt to behold them.

“ _ Wow, _ ” Peter breathed, stepping slowly into the space ahead of his partner. “This - this is incredible.” Eddie nodded in silent agreement, following much more cautiously. One hand checked the “cabinet” door to ensure they wouldn’t get stuck in the room if it swung shut, and was relieved to find it had no give whatsoever. It’d be a bitch to push back in, actually, once they moved on to other rooms. 

“What  _ is _ this place?” Peter asked, and Eddie’s eyes ticked to more details of the room, trying to assess just that.

There was a single eye and a pyramid above the hearth that was the first clue. The symbol carved into the painted mantle looked nothing short of watchful. Sinister; even - or neutral with a sinister lean. His eyes scanned the ceiling again, then the candelabras - realizing each of the little places a candle ought to go was actually an upturned set of fingers. Three by four - twelve hands total, offering up light. His gaze shifted then to the table, and, with a magician’s maneuver, Eddie whisked the cloth away in a shimmering dust cloud to reveal - 

Runes. Symbols. Each carved and blackened purposefully into the table. Palmistry, spiritualism, icons of a million different ways to deal with the dead and the living alike emblazoned to life beneath the morning glow coming in through the massive windows. Eddie’s jaw slackened and Peter leaned in, squinting, to better see the stuff.

“...It’s a seance room,” Eddie breathed, looking back up from the furniture to Peter across the table from him. Eyes rounding, Peter darted a look from Eddie to the table; smile brightening back to life.

“No way.”

“Way,” Eddie said, pointing to the items etched into the woodwork. “Like - look, that’s a symbol meant for fortune, and that one’s for talking to the dead, this one you see in fortune-telling - this must’ve been a spiritualist house…”

“I thought the woman who sold it to us was Catholic,” Peter said, cocking his head to one side and reaching out to touch one of the symbols. Eddie gently batted his hand away. “Hey! You’re not gettin’ superstitious on me now, are you?” Expression rueful, Eddie dug his Star back out from under his shirt, waggling it Peter’s way impatiently, before putting it back again. “Okay,” Peter muttered, “point taken - but this is just a buncha hocus pocus--”

“Really wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“It’s just an old house, baby,” Peter insisted, his smile softening. “Like - I know Lily Dale was a lot for you…”

“To put it mildly,” Eddie grunted, pulling back from the table and crossing his arms. Peter sighed. 

“But ain’t nobody here but us chickens,” he finished. “Let’s just - give the room a look-over and figure out what needs fixing, and we’ll go from there.” Eddie nodded after a moment’s pause, and, with one fleeting look back at Peter, moved back over toward the hearth to check the floo. Peter, satisfied with that, glanced back down at the table.

There was a little figure of a man near his right hand that puzzled him. Eddie hadn’t defined it, so Peter wasn’t sure he’d seen it. The little man was just a black smudge, more than anything - carved into the table like the others, but someone must’ve messed up, because the head was a little pointy on either side, and there seemed to be a snake wrapping around him. It sent a shiver down his spine, but - 

Like Pandora and her box, Peter Quill was never one to leave curiosity alone.

“Eddie,” he asked mildly, reaching out again. His husband turned in place, frowning a little in thought. “What’s this on--ow!” Peter pulled his hand back from the table with a grimace. The thing had splintered and bit him with stray shards, finger already welling with blood. “Jeez, that’ll teach me.” It wouldn’t, but it helped to say aloud nonetheless.

Eddie opened his mouth - either to exasperatedly chastise or to ask if he was alright - 

When it all suddenly went to a new kind of shit.

**_BOOM._ ** With a crash and clatter, each of the massive windows in the room  _ slammed  _ shutters over themselves as if impatiently slapped by a great, unseen hand. The curtains billowed and twisted; dancing in place with gauzy frenzy. Eddie jolted back and away from the hearth as it  _ lit itself  _ behind him with a great  _ burst  _ of flame, the tongues of which rocketed; howling, toward the chimney’s interior.

Peter shot out a hand to grab Eddie’s own as the man moved closer to him. Bloody fingers tangled on softer ones, and Peter whispered weakly,

“So I’m regretting the whole ‘hocus pocus’ thing.”

“Pete?” Eddie called out faintly from nowhere near Peter in the dark room lit only by firelight, now. Peter froze, his fingers loosening on the hand he’d gone to grab. Heart thumping hard in his chest, swallowing back unease, the tall man risked a look down -

And came face to face with twin pools of glowing gold, accompanied by a wicked grin that cut the dark like a knife.

Incomprehensibly swearing, Peter leapt away in an instant and backed up as fast as he could toward the hearth. Eddie caught him, brandishing the flashlight like a weapon, but - 

Whatever it was had gone, slipped somewhere into the shadows again. Eddie clutched Peter tight against himself, and, still wielding the torch with all the efficiency of a medieval peasant confronted with a wolf in the woods, hissed:

“So what did we learn today?”

“Oh, really?” Peter whispered back, “now’s the time for a lecture?  _ Really? _ Maybe it’s just some dude in a Halloween mood! Early! By two weeks!”

“Or maybe it’s a LITERAL demon you just summoned because you can’t keep still for two seconds,” Eddie spat back, hugging Peter’s middle and staring around the cornerless space. 

A faint chuckle filled the area, and, as if he’d always been there, dead-center on the table of a thousand symbols, a figure twiddled a couple of fingers at the two men huddled by the hearth.  _ His  _ hearth. Like a photograph developing; red skin -  _ no, fur  _ \- bloomed in the abyss, followed by limbs drawn into a perfect pretzel. The serpentine tail waved hello; sinuously shifting. Eyes like two lamps curved upward with mirth, and little white fangs flashed; glittering with more of the same.

“Boo,” purred a low, soft voice - and that was all Eddie needed to  _ bolt,  _ grabbing the mesmerized man at his side while doing so.


	2. Splinters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering what happens when you don't keep your hands to yourself in a haunted house, it's...probably this.   
> Peter Quill and the Spooky Souvenir(TM).

###  **Screams echoed up and down the halls of the house as Eddie and Peter both took off like bats out of Hell.**

_“WHY DID YOU HAVE TO TOUCH THE GODDAMN TABLE--”_

“IT’S FINE,” Peter shouted back, stumbling along on long legs in an effort to keep up with Eddie’s frantic sprinting toward the exit. “It’s PERFECTLY FINE, just a dude in a Halloween costume with a sick sense of humor!”

“You call any of that shit humorous?!” Eddie barked, fumbling to grab the stuff they’d ditched by the stairs of the Murdock House before beelining it for the front door. 

Of course, it swung shut with a tremendous crash of wood-on-wood violence, the splintering force enough to shake the tiles under their feet. Peter banged into Eddie as the shorter man halted mid-skid across the floor, hands instinctively lifting to ward off danger. A shadow peeled itself away from the structure and, with a vague  _ click-clack  _ of something’s talons pattering over the tiled floor. 

“Try it,” Peter said breathlessly, one hand on the banister. “Try the door.” Eddie swung back around, arms frantically flailing between Peter and the exit.

“I’m not TRYING the godforsaken DOOR, Peter, that’s a surefire way to get POSSESSED!”

“We’ve been in old houses before,” Peter reasoned nervously, “maybe we uh - we breathed in some mold spores, or something, just now, and we’re hallucinating --”

“The readouts didn’t say  _ anything  _ about high mold content, so try again,” Eddie hissed, blue eyes burning. Behind him, the wood of the door shifted and groaned; rattled by the wind outside. 

In an instant, he was back at Peter’s side, all but clinging to his arm with the force of a vice-grip, clutching flannel for dear life. Peter’s eyes, round as saucers, shifted over the threshold and then to the hallways adjacent.

“We - we can try to find another way out, then...it’s just - it’s somebody playing a prank, baby, it’s okay…” His hand slid over Eddie’s own, and, for a moment, stillness fell. Eddie remembered to breathe, his cheek pressed to Peter’s bicep, their fingers entangled. The gold of their rings winked in the gloom, a reminder that they had each other. In sickness, in health, and, apparently, in random premature Halloween shenanigans.

“Just - trust me, okay?” Peter coaxed softly. His lips found the top of Eddie’s head in a lingering kiss. “Just a spooky ol’ house. Weird...energy, or something. We’ll get out of here and laugh about it later. I got you.” His free hand rested briefly over Eddie’s chest, pressing on the star that laid under his henley, against his sternum. The silver object was cool and settling as the clink of their rings had been. Eddie let himself be grounded; his next exhalation a little bit steadier.  _ Just a bunch of hocus pocus. _ God, famous last words, but --

“Okay,” Eddie breathed, and Peter smiled - the house was oddly quiet now, still around them as if holding its breath instead. The lingering unease, the tightly-shut red front door, and the dust disturbed to swirl as waltzing echoes of time were all that remained. In this mausoleum-made-mansion, or vice-versa, the two men steadied themselves, hand-in-hand, and looked at their surroundings.

“There might be stairs leading out to the garden on the second floor,” Eddie noted. “From the - drawing room up there, I mean.”

“Or a servant’s entrance by the kitchen,” Peter noted, glancing down the hallway again. It yawned, dark and empty, save for the occasional flicker of dappled light toward the end.  _ There is a light that never goes out, _ popped into Peter’s head - though the Smiths weren’t exactly his band. Lips pursing, Peter followed the little pull toward the hall on a whim, hand slipping out of Eddie’s own. Already, the adrenaline of danger was ebbing as the tidal excitement of the unknown swept in to take its place.

“Where are you going?” Eddie said softly. “Peter -  _ Peter-- _ ”

“Shshsh, it’s fine,” Peter motioned with a hand, then dipped down to rummage around in the toolbox, picking up a hammer. “Satisfied?” He wiggled the item at Eddie mockingly, and in return, got only a long-suffering expression of dismay. “I’ll be back in two shakes.”

“We shouldn’t split up. That’s like rule #1 in a horror movie. That and ‘there’s something right behind me, isn’t there’. Or something.”

“We don’t watch enough horror movies,” Peter noted, nodding to himself as if logging that away for later. Eddie thrust out his hands, and, sensing a lecture, Peter sighed, stopping him with a palm. “Look. Just...it’s okay. You’ll still be able to see me. I’m gonna walk down that hallway into the kitchen, do a quick 360, and come back. You should stay where you are - see if the front door unsticks. Or...try it when you’re feeling braver,” he added, smile curling at either corner of his mouth. Eddie’s expression went from uncertain to downright murderous, and Peter grinned outright. “Just - two shakes. Like I said.” He shimmied for emphasis before darting backwards toward the hall, pivoting on his heel to rush on his way.

“Peter,” he heard Eddie plaintively say behind him - but, paying no mind, rapidly padded toward the sunny place he saw; brighter still in the dark depths of the narrow, tall passage. Portraits engulfed in the embrace of cobwebs covered walls cracked and faded by time.  _ A little wallpaper and some ornamental lamps would do the trick to fix this place up, _ Peter thought to himself. “Maybe something over-the-top like  _ The Shining. _ ” He chuckled faintly, and, stepping forward, found himself situated in the kitchen.

It must not’ve been the main one in the house - far too small and crudely-updated to be anything historical anymore. The checkered floor in here was much more faded than the elegant marble tile in the foyer. The oaken floorboards had given way instead to the display of linoleum; a minty pastel fridge, plastic countertops, a deep farmer’s sink that’d seen better days, and battered furniture that could’ve been secondhand, for all he knew.

It wasn’t particularly large, thus the windows to the outside let the light spill in; a lemonade splash against the otherwise ashy room. The walls at some point must’ve been canary, or similar - though the water stains and disuse over time had dyed them or drained them; leaving beige patches and rotting brown holes.

“Charming,” Peter murmured, glancing around - there was indeed a door leading away from the room, though he couldn’t determine whether or not it led outside, given the gossamer curtain practically glued to the glass with age. Only solution was to try it, he figured.

Leaning back into the frame of the threshold, Peter waved down the hall to Eddie. “It’s all good, babe, I think I found a door,” he called brightly, and turned back around.

Where the door was, so again was the demon.

Peter’s mouth shot shut over the swear that almost tore out of him, a vague hiss of  _ “ssshshhh _ **_hhh-_ ** ” following the jerk he took away from the entrance. Golden eyes, unwavering and bright, peered up in his general direction. Up close, the crackling scent of a campfire came, curious; cloying with marshmallow smoke. Peter swore he saw bits of that mist spill from between pointy little teeth as the entity in ember hues grinned up at him. The same long tail twisted and twined, coiling in the air. Little dark talons clacked against the door before the demon pushed himself off of it, leaning up into Peter’s space.

“ _ Peter? _ ” Eddie called again as the strange entity set about huffing the area closest to Peter’s neck and jaw. He held very still, heart hammering in his chest - with excitement, still, he recognized. Not fear. He wasn’t  _ afraid,  _ necessarily - strange as it all was, it was...so interesting. More than the average renovation, that was for sure.

He giggled a little - “everything’s fine, baby -” - and swallowed when the demon froze, seemingly surprised by the volume of his voice. Peter, lowering that range, tried to think of something to say. 

“Uh,” Peter tested faintly, “h...hello?” The demon cocked his head to one side as if listening to more than just his words. There was no denying at this proximity the reality he was facing. Baffled, Peter glanced over the raised...fur?...that covered the otherwise - “oh, you’re naked.” Peter blinked in disbelief, then glanced back up into the stranger’s face. This close, surrounded by darker hair and the scent of citrusy woodsmoke, maybe sandalwood - he smelled  _ good,  _ Peter realized, more than a bit overwhelmed - the demon seemed less frightening than in a room full of old candelabras and rattling windows. The sharkish teeth notwithstanding, of course. Nor the way he pressed up on his toes till their noses almost brushed, still eerily smiling.

“Naked,” echoed the demon, head tilting the other way. Peter gulped back a nervous laugh, one hand lifting. Instinctive - interested. As he’d done to the table before, without fear, Peter gently lowered a few fingers to the side of the demon’s face.

That startled the thing, whoever he was - at least enough for a flutter of lashes and a small  _ mrrp  _ of sound.  _ Like a cat, _ Peter noted dizzily, and laughed in spite of himself. In near-perfect imitation, the demonic man mimicked the sound - though it was performed through an unsmiling mouth, now, the golden gleam of the eyes that much brighter.  _ Mesmerizing. _ Peter shifted his fingers absently through dark tresses and across fields of fuzzy crimson, scritching as he went. Little by little, twin suns rolled shut behind heavy red lids, and, with a deeply-contented sigh for something so eerie, the imp tilted forward against the hand on his face.

“...You’re...cute,” Peter managed to eke out, voice a little strangled with disbelief. A pointy ear twitched, and the demon lifted a hand with a lazy flex of talons extending; one by one dropping them onto Peter’s forearm. There was a leathery, rough sensation instead of fuzz or skin, something much more like the pad of a paw against his arm. The sloppily-unbuttoned sleeve slipped between them, and, with a little knead, Peter felt the fabric tear a bit as the claws of the not-beast tugged and relaxed. 

“Cute,” the demon said, voice a low purr. “ _ Cute. _ ” The smirk was back, even though he’d done nothing to withdraw from Peter’s touches. Saffron and cedar burning; coriander - something like a chest of spices being opened; wafting into his face. Between that and the silken material under his digits, Peter felt he could fall into the moment forever. He’d almost forgotten why he’d even wandered into the little galley with its crumbling walls and sour, mildew air. All of that was blistering away under the sweeping warmth he felt as his fingers found the soft spot behind the demon’s tapered ear.

“Are you real?” Peter asked quietly, not really expecting an answer. Fiery marigold eyes flickered back to life; and, with a little snicker, the demon tilted forward so that his chin rested in Peter’s hand. Dark hair drifted between two points, and Peter noted the horns - like a goat’s, but a little shorter, turned strangely.  _ Handlebars,  _ his brain supplied stupidly - and he laughed again in spite of himself, wonder in every chiming note. “Wow.”

“Wow,” the demon said back, soft and almost teasing. Peter leaned down and in a bit, drawn into twin infernos. They seemed to swirl and refract in the glittering kitchen sunshine, their own gravitational fields undeniably deep. 

“I  _ like  _ stars,” Peter mumbled aloud, lids half-lowering. The demon nodded, almost amused, pressing his lips together. “Your eyes’re like stars. How is that possible?” 

The demon opened his mouth to respond, and - 

“PETER,” Eddie said loudly by his ear. Peter jolted as a broad hand clapped itself onto his shoulder, and, shivering slightly, snapped back to reality. The kitchen was vacant, only the sunlight and the shadow remained in tandem. The door before him was just a door, no demon leaning against it like a blushing wallflower - though he’d been far from. Shaking his head as if trying to scatter cobwebs from his cranium more than the threshold itself, Peter cleared his throat and turned to look around at Eddie. Concern creased every inch of his partner’s face, the troubled expression belied by frantic anxiety. 

Dazedly, Peter pressed a little kiss to Eddie’s sweaty forehead, and, sighing a little, mumbled: “I’m okay. I’m here.”

“You stopped answering me,” Eddie said tensely, not leaning into the kiss whatsoever. Peter drew back a little to see the shorter man still stubbornly staring up at him. “Why did you stop?”

“Got - distracted,” Peter said, suddenly tired. One hand traced the arm where the demon had touched him. It itched a little; twinging something fierce, but - he was truly starting to chalk this up to the unexplained aspects of an old house. A creepy old house, no less, with toxins and lead paint and  _ stars  _ knew what else. Inhaling slowly, Peter brought a hand up to clasp the back of Eddie’s head, butting brow-to-brow with him. “It’s okay, everything’s fine. Let’s just - give this door a go, okay?”

Reaching behind himself without looking, Peter turned the handle through the filmy curtain and pressed inward, stepping back and away to make room. 

With a groan of protest, the white wooden door flopped open, bumping the counter adjacent with a disheartened swing. Outside, the back garden - overgrown with weeds and brambles; thickets of dying blackberries - clamored for attention with the last insects before the frost and the humming dissonance of life. The early-morning dew had not quite dried, painting the thicketed path in a haze of something dreamlike. Peter straightened up and turned to face the music of the wilds, breathing a little sigh of relief. Just a weird old house and too much tinkering around late at night in the garage. He could explain it all away if he wanted to, but - 

He didn’t...want to.

Some things in this world  _ deserved  _ to be a mystery. Old houses were one of them, and that was why they did what they did, in a way. Restoring the fantasy of what reality could be, one inlaid brick or reinforced beam at a time. Rubbing one eye, Peter stretched slightly and ducked out the door, booted feet sinking into the marshy grass before finding the crooked path of old stones. With a swivel of a tawny head, Peter turned to glance back at Eddie, his smile brightly returning.

“You comin’, baby blue?”

Eddie, frozen in the kitchen, stared beyond Peter into the world he walked into with nary a care. Behind him, for the briefest of moments, there was naught but darkness - then slow, licking flame, crawling in spires and spirals over old latticework and abandoned construction awnings. There were ladders of coal disintegrating into the abyss, deteriorating bones reaching up out of the dirt. Brimstone and copper stunk the air something fierce; making his eyes swim and sting. Peter, still grinning back at him, wreathed in the licking, lapping Hell-on-earth, furrowed his brow. The fire crept across his face, cinders flaking.

“ _ Babe? _ ”

Eddie blinked and the vision shifted. The world was green-on-gold again, with deep russets and clarets; oranges and yellows. The foliage enfolded the garden walls, ensconced in twining ivy. Pumpkins; despite everything, poked out of the little divots of a bed nearby, their vines uncoiling like springs of sage. Eddie exhaled, the wet stench of the ground and the crispness of the early-October air biting his senses back into submission. He tucked his hands into his pockets and headed forward at a slanted gait, fumbling to kick the door shut behind himself. Not touching a damn thing with his bare hands, that’s for sure.

“Everything alright?” Peter asked.  _ Had he seen him too? Just now? _ Eddie didn’t look at him directly - instead twisting around Peter on the path with a tug to his wrist, encouraging him to follow. Peter staggered after him, and, with a frown, slipped his fingers through Eddie’s once more. “It was just -”

“Let’s not talk about it,” Eddie muttered. Peter’s frown only deepened, and, squeezing Eddie’s hand, he followed him out the ramshackle gate hanging off its hinges, stepping out over the tumbledown precipice between the garden and the rest of the grounds. 

“But we have a job to do - we can’t just - our stuff’s still in there,” Peter pointed out in a protest, motioning to the house behind himself. 

“We’ll give it a week - I need to do some research.” Eddie mumbled. “Well.  _ More  _ research. Whatever the hell that was, I didn’t care for it.”

“I don’t think it...meant any harm,” Peter said meekly - and endured the withering stare with practiced patience, his smile plaintive. “Eddie - c’mon, it’s okay. Whatever’s going on, we’ll...figure it out.” His arm  _ burned,  _ but he didn’t want to mention that. It felt like a rash, whatever it was, and he was sure a little cold cream would do wonders. That and maybe a hot bath for his very stressed out husband. Maybe for both of them. 

“Peter, I’ve seen a lot of shit in my day,” Eddie said tiredly, walking them both back toward the car. “I’ve seen cave-ins, I’ve seen mold consume entire basements and sub-basements. I’ve seen evil-looking root-cellars. I’ve seen faux-’Satanic’ sacrifice sheds. People get up to some  _ weird  _ shit when they own houses, and, quite frankly, I would  _ not  _ put it past some rich a-holes to have some kind of Hellmouth or something at their disposal. Who’s to say we didn’t just see an actual demon? I’m just glad we got away. And yeah,” Eddie sighed, brows shrugging. “I do still intend to...to finish this project, otherwise we’ll…”  _ Be in the hole,  _ he didn’t say - Peter didn’t need to worry about their finances, after all.

“We’ll ruin our track record,” Eddie muttered, scratching the back of his head. Their car was waiting for them at the front of the house, and, crunching their way through the grassed bowed low beneath the damp still hanging in the air along with a chill, Eddie dug the keys out of his pocket, still holding fast to Peter’s hand.

Peter, for his part, was uncharacteristically quiet - nodding along to what Eddie had to say, but choosing not to engage. He felt strange. Not bad, or sick, just - strange. Like the spices had stayed with him, clogging up his senses, making the world tilt dully around him. When Eddie opened the door to their SUV - a four-door orange-and-cream custom horror that Peter lovingly referred to as  _ my sweet Milano _ \- Peter paused for a moment to collect himself.

In the glass of the window, he saw the demon again.

Head jerking around to look behind himself, Peter lingered on the sight of the house behind them. The sightless windows gazed hollowly across their own long driveway, the copses of undead trees waving rhythmically in the passing breezes. Peter looked back around and blinked again. A little yellow lingered in the lines of his vision; along with the kind of red bursts of flame that came when someone rubbed their eyes too hard. He squinted, and, like a camera flash, the leak faded away.

He slipped into the car and Eddie shut the door behind him, one hand remaining put on the door as if to seal Peter in with a blessing. Worry furrowed the other man’s brow as he watched Peter slump in the front seat.

“...Maybe we  _ did  _ inhale a fuckton of mold,” Eddie muttered to himself, tossing the keys from hand to hand as he headed back to the driver’s seat. He’d say a prayer tonight and hope for the best. And get them both cleaned up. Fumigated, but for people. Delirious with the comedown of an anxiety attack, Eddie chuckled faintly before throwing himself into the driver’s seat, slapping his own door shut to follow.

As they took off back down the drive away from the house, neither of them noticed the little stretch of shadow unfurling with languid indifference in the backseat behind them.


	3. Sweet Dreams are Made of These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the man of your dreams could literally be one minor possession away.   
> aka  
> sometimes you need to spice up your life.  
> aka  
> well. you'll see.

###  **The History of the Murdock House.**

The browser window glowed; accusatory and ghostly in its own right, in the dark depths of the living room. It was their third night back from the misadventure at the mansion, and Eddie’d been rifling through all the library, scholarly, and local historical archives in an attempt to try and unearth the mysteries of what they’d experienced. 

A lot of the urban legend folk-sites had faux information in the form of  **_10,000,000,000 nuns SLAUGHTERED on old ABBEY GROUNDS_ ** , which, quite frankly,  _ wasn’t  _ helpful - nor was the Encyclopedia Britannica paragraph stating that the house had once been owned by a cult masquerading as a church, potentially linked to the Freemasons. Inundated by the swamp of useless information, he’d begun to compile his own - outside of what Maggie had given him and Peter initially, which was that she’d been keeping the house as a promise to a friend, but it was time to move on.

She’d said she didn’t know much about it, but now - Eddie had tried to call her again, to no avail. She hadn’t picked up the first couple of times, and by the third ring, the line had apparently been disconnected and was no longer in service.

Seemed a little too fucking  _ convenient,  _ if you asked Eddie Brock.

He’d always been too curious for his own good, of course - it was partially why he’d wound up in the industry [if it could be called as such] he was in now. He’d been fidgety, took up shop to keep his hands busy: did write-ups on systems and processes - anything to keep going, to slake the thirst for knowledge and build-up of skillset. 

And that was how he’d met Peter - when he’d started up a renovation on-call service around the same time and place someone from Missouri came to the big city looking for work of a similar nature. Eddie’s fingers tapped the keys, copying-pasting the important information into the word doc, even as his mind drifted.

Their work styles had clashed  _ horrifically  _ at the beginning - Eddie preferring music of a certain volume in earbuds, whereas Peter rolled up to renovation sites in that then-godawful orange Honda Life Kei blasting oldies so hard the rustbucket threatened to rattle apart at the bolts. 

He’d been loud himself; lanky, laughing more than actually working - or so Eddie had presumed. But he always got his work done, and he loved details. Peter had an affinity for dancing when he finished something - whatever music was on, he made it work, often sweeping Eddie away from obsessing over the same little problem to break the tension likewise.

The first time they’d kissed had been behind a house from the late 1800’s on the Upper East Side, surrounded by a little drizzle of rain that cast prismatic rainbows in sunshine. A magic little moment, driven by a play-argument wherein Eddie teased Peter for trying to convince the New York Historical Society to let him “paint the limestone green”. They hadn’t approved, of course, and Peter had been giggling about how he had to  _ try,  _ at least  _ once,  _ and how the color he’d chosen actually came from the 70’s -  _ 1978, Eddie, exactly 100 years after this house was built! What’s more historical than THAT? I should’ve been a lawyer. _

Eddie had kissed him then, tugged him down mid-giggle to press their lips together, and in the very same instant, decided he never wanted to work with anyone else. Never wanted to  _ be _ with anyone else, either, as far as he knew. That night he took Peter to dinner, and Peter walked him home. It was…

_ Magical, _ Eddie thought to himself, stirring out of his reverie and back to the moment at hand. His fingers skipped back clumsily over the keys for a second or two before finding home row and getting back to work. 

Peter’d been...odd, since the incidents at the house. Not bad or weird, just...odd. He hadn’t had much of an appetite, which was definitely not like him - at least for the first day. The second, he was ravenous, shaking Eddie awake earlier than anticipated to ask for food. Any food. Stumbling up out of bed to make up a breakfast at - he checked the clock on the stove blearily -  _ 5:23 AM,  _ he’d managed to do it without burning the house down, but - 

He’d come back to find Peter sprawled out, snoring, back dead asleep again - weirdly, with his shirt rucked up and a hand tucked halfway down his pants, but...Eddie decided he wasn’t going to judge him. He might ask him about it later, but chances were, Peter was probably just...sleep...groping. Whatever. 

What he’d seen otherwise, really, had been the issue - Peter had been up and pacing on the second day, a little distracted, seemingly sweaty with fever. He kept itching at an arm, though, when Eddie looked, there’d been nothing there at all beyond Peter’s own claw-marks. He’d applied a few medicinal products and bandaged him up, but every so often, caught him scratching. Again.

He’d recommended they go to a doctor, but in his usual way of maneuvering conversations he simply didn’t want to deal with, Peter had taken Eddie by the hands and sang him “Doctor, Doctor, Give Me The News”, dipping him back in the kitchen till they were both roaring with laughter. It was hammy and corny and over-the-top, but they both rolled no other way; save together. 

Then, of course, there’d been the incident with the...well, Eddie wasn’t actually sure what he’d witnessed in the kitchen this morning. He’d heard Peter muttering to himself, or to the appliances, maybe a half-mumbled lyric or two, and then an abrupt silence. When Eddie’d peered into the kitchen, he’d found Peter pressed back against the counter, seemingly making out with the air. Apparently  _ very  _ into it, too, his head tilted down, lips moving against nothing, his face flushed and…

Strangely enough, the scent of coriander and cinnamon in the air.

“What the hell’re you doing,” Eddie remarked warily - and watched as Peter surfaced with a gasp like a man from a dream about drowning. Greenish-hazel eyes had fluttered confusion and questions his way, but Peter’d just laughed, a shaky, wheezy titter of a sort, before beckoning Eddie closer with both hands.

“Um - practicing?”

He hadn’t bought it for a second, and it’d bothered him since 10 AM.

Now, twelve hours later, he was still up out of bed, tapping away at the keys and compiling information. The more resourceful stuff had come up with the year the mansion was actually built -  _ 1794  _ \- and when it’d had renovations in the past -  _ 1812, 1868, 1901,  _ and  _ 1991. _ There’d also been a history of owners it had passed through, but they were; frustratingly, broken down to initials like  _ J.M.  _ and  _ W.F., _ which wasn’t very helpful. Rubbing his brow with a hand, Eddie sighed and shut his eyes.

Behind him, something creaked in the living room.

Call him jumpy, but his hand rose up over the laptop’s edge before slapping it shut, turning to look behind him in the gloom offset only by the small desk-lamp lit at his side. Emptiness with furniture greeted him, just a standard space in a standard, if well-maintained and kept-up apartment. There was a little unfurling of something that smelled...sulfuric, and, crinkling his nose, Eddie got up abruptly from the desk, putting a hand out in front of him.

For a second, he swore he saw opaque topaz eyes blink to life in the shadows - but before he could even utter a sound, they were gone again, consumed by the gloom. The scent dissipated likewise, and Eddie; knees a little wobbly, made his way promptly toward the bedroom.  _ Fuck this. _

Clearly he’d been overdoing it. He crawled into bed faster than any man possibly could like a seal slipping off a deck back into the water. Diving down under the covers, Eddie twisted till he had his nose buried in the crook of Peter’s neck. Therein lay the familiar scents of sugar, sweat, and leather - coupled by the deep, comfortable sighs of a man embedded in the REM cycle so completely it would take a cannon to wake him. 

Not wanting to be that kind of noise right now, Eddie slid his arms around Peter’s middle and held him fast.

They were  _ fine. _ They had a little more time before they were required to submit any kind of official assessment on the Murdock House. Needless to say, flipping it would still be some kind of trial - 

But alongside historical research, Eddie had compiled a myriad of other things. What white sage supposedly did, what symbols might cleanse a place. Whether or not they should invite some kind of holy person back with them - Peter would  _ definitely  _ roll his eyes about most of it, but Eddie figured…

Better safe than sorry.

Before long, he slipped off into slumber alongside Peter, dissolving into the darkness of uneasy dreams.

In his arms, however, Peter was elsewhere.

He’d been walking the halls of Murdock House again, following the same warm trail of spices coming from the kitchen he’d seen the demon in before. The golden light was  _ everywhere,  _ the same prismatic topaz of his eyes, sparkling and refracting with force unparalleled. Peter ran a hand down the hallway and watched the wallpaper peel off behind him, the fantastic ribbons of rotting color fading away to something much more glorious. Time fell off the beams and the rafters, lights ignited as he strolled along.

It was returning to the glory days.

Distant chatter and footsteps found their way into his mind; the senses of which were both heightened and dulled simultaneously. He swore he could taste champagne -  _ disgusting -  _ before it shifted to something like mulled cider in his mouth.  _ Better. _

The kitchen wafted with the allspice and anise scents; baked things taken elsewhere by hands unseen. Swirling mists chased his ankles; feline in their foggy departure, and on the center of the table was a jack-o-lantern waiting to be put out - or perhaps already exactly where it needed to be.

Running a hand over the tangerine ridges, Peter looked around at the restored room - it was a little bit less 50’s, now - more its original mahogany, oak, and solid block of floor, rather than linoleum tile. It was absolutely a servant’s galley, though he wasn’t sure what era, exactly. He really should’ve looked into that more. But it was hard to get himself to settle down and focus on the information - much easier to use his hands, his senses, get elbow-deep into the unearthing of things, rather than the digging up of determined factors like  _ iron grate time period  _ and  _ whether or not this finish was suitable for beech. _ And who used beech in a house, and on and on - it was as if Eddie’s words followed him up to the edge of the kitchen, but beyond the threshold…

It was quiet, the music distant and sweet somewhere down the hallway. The golden light had given way to dozens of candles instead; the sun long since faded from the windows. It was an enclave of cavernous possibility, hazy and gauzy, shimmering strangely. Peter swept a hand instinctively through a candle-flame - no burn or agony followed. It tickled, if anything, tonguing the palm of his hand. He fought back a startled snicker, tucking his hand back behind himself along with the other. One thumb ticked, contemplatively, as Peter pivoted in place, neck craning to study the ceiling. It, too, was fully itself again - no patchwork required, no need to reinstall lights. A magnificent little chandelier with candles in it, too, hung overhead instead. 

“Wow,” purred the now-familiar voice, and Peter turned sharply again. 

Perched on the table where the pumpkin had been was the lithe demon instead; crimson-furred and devious. His pointy little fangs protruded over his full bottom lip, legs drawn up; froglike, against his chest at either side. Wiry arms hung over the knees, a sprawl, of sorts, and winking yellow eyes sparkled and shone. Peter’s breath hitched.

“Wow,” he echoed, and the demon’s grin only grew. “You’re - back. You’ve…” Peter’s hands found the edge of the table and he leaned in a little, steadying himself. “You never left, did you,” he finished; the acknowledgment less a question and more a statement. 

It’d been the daydream in the kitchen, his lips pressed to a smooth red mouth. The dip of forked tongue against his that made heat pool between his legs and sent a bony shudder down his spine. It was the lingering taste of something  _ good  _ when he woke, the phantom feeling of talons kneading his chest. He’d been floundering in a mirage for days, chasing shadows. Peter swore, at times, his feet left the ground, physical form breaking the chains of gravity. Walking on air, he’d wound up in arms that melted out of shadow into something so much more solid; scarlet and soft. Snuggled up at night to the sensation, too, of something - someone - laying arm-over-arm with him, the flex of barbs over flesh soothing in the most bizarre way.

“No,” the demon said - the first time, Peter could tell, that he hadn’t merely spoken in an echo. Face brightening, the renovator leaned in a bit more, trying to take in the details of the demon, but - the closer he got, the blurrier he became, so Peter swung back a little, blinking owlishly. Head cocked to one side, the imp in question thrummed contentedly, one hand reaching out to take Peter’s nearest hand in a scuff of leathery pads and silky short fur. He brought Peter’s hand up patiently to his ears, and, with a little encouragement [in the form of cheek rubbing against digits], the demon felt the first thrill of satisfaction that came from the tender tugs of the intruder’s fingers. Chin lifting in contentment, the demon sighed into drumming; droll music in the form of a deep  _ churr. _

“...You - you wanna stay?” Peter asked softly. It seemed like the right thing to ask. The demon opened up a golden eye and frowned faintly, butting his head into Peter’s hand again.  _ Keep petting.  _ Peter obliged, still pulling and pushing, letting the column of softness and sinew under his hand ease in tension. “Not here,” Peter added, still stroking away. He jumped a little as a long tail brushed his leg, the whipping whimsical thing sweeping along his thigh. Peter sorely wished that didn’t send a spike of excitement through him - but he held the sound in the back of his throat, though it lowered his voice and powered down his defenses as he croaked:

“With - us. New York City. Eddie and I.”

“Ed-die,” the demon muttered, lips pursing. Peter nodded in a daze, fingers curving under the demon’s jaws, second hand rising to join the first, cradling his fuzzy features in tenderness. “Pe-ter,” he purred, and Peter felt something inside of him melt - either from how warm the room was getting, or from the noises the demon made.

“That’s our names,” Peter said gently. “Do you have one?” The demon shook his head, dark hair drifting over his brow. Peter’s fingers shifted across the demon’s forehead, tucking chocolate tresses out of the way of protruding horns. Scritching a finger between the two of those, Peter was delighted to find that one of the big, clawed feet on the table skidded a bit - in order to thump outward with an extension of contentment, kicking at the air. 

“Would you…” Peter wet his lips, earnestly looking the demon over. It was an  _ adventure,  _ he realized - he’d come out to New York in search of one, and he’d found new ones with every house he and Eddie had wound up working on. But nothing like this. This was...beyond the pale, even if it was just - a hallucination, or a dream, or the most vivid imaginary friend he’d  _ ever  _ had - he found himself wanting to fall into it. To lean into it, at the very least, and see if the illusion leaned  _ back. _

Their foreheads met, in fact, as Peter finished his thought: “would you  _ like  _ a name?”

The demon’s smile as glittery; mischievous. 

“You would give me a name, Pe-Ter?” Peter nodded, inadvertently butting heads with the demon, and winced when the horns rubbed wrong. Not bad - just a little hard. It was hard to think, this close to him, this surrounded by his scent and the swirling vortex of simmering sensation that was the sweltering room. Almost boiling. A scalding kind of air; thick as swamp but ten times sweeter. Peter waded in deeper, nose nudging the demon’s cheek, nuzzling into the feathery fluff.

“H’yeah,” Peter breathed, his smile bright. “Everybody should have a name. You’re somebody. I’m pretty sure, anyway. Let me just…” He pulled back reluctantly, hands on the demon’s shoulders, and, studying him for a long moment, he tried to come up with something suitable, thumbs working circles into the bare surface of his body.

_ Red. Rose. Murdy. Maurice. Mikey. Ruby. Rosco. Rosario. Luke. Nick. Diablo. Diego. Mark. Matt.  _

“Matt,” Peter tried aloud. The demon blinked up at him, bemused. “Matthew?” There was a swish of a tail, and the crimson ghoul uttered a sound close to a laugh; more along the lines of crackling flame. “That’s not a no,” Peter noted, and pressed a quick kiss to the demon’s forehead. A christening, a baptism of something human - some earthly wile that wouldn’t burn, he hoped. The demon bristled all over; a tuft of dark fur in a ridge standing up in particular across his back. Peter chortled, more kisses following, though the demon lifted hands to his wrists as if about to push him away.  _ Like a cat done with affectionate gestures. _

But instead, Peter simply found himself held, and hell. He leaned into it, after all.

And the demon -  _ Matt  _ \- leaned  _ back. _

“Matt,” he said, murmuring in that same, melodic voice of twisted logs and creaky doors freshly-oiled. “Matt, Matthew, Matt.  _ Matt. _ ” With each affirmation of his own name, the summoned spirit smudged his face against Peter’s own, his own little blessing in return. Or a hex, Peter figured, but it was one that didn’t harm him. Not really. Not yet, anyway. Eddie would’ve been worried, he realized, but - 

Eddie was somewhere out at that party, and...how had he gotten back to Murdock House, exactly? A knit formed between his brows as Matt snuggled up to him, and, absently bringing a hand up behind the demon’s head, Peter ruffled up his hair, toying with the locks. 

“Matty,” Peter murmured, and that elicited a little chirrup of delight from the being at his side, “let’s go - let’s go home, okay?”

There was a pause as the demon seemed to consider, but - now that he’d been  _ named,  _ he had a way  _ out. _ There was no reason to stay hidden, now - he could come and enter the world of men through the door Peter had given him. The door of  _ identity.  _ No longer part of a legion, or an ornamental guardian to a house that stood [just barely] on its own, forgotten by its masters, he was  _ Matthew. Matty. Matt.  _

“Matt,” he murmured once more, sightless eyes scanning the only fire he could see - warmer around Peter; somehow, brighter in the dark. His fangs flashed; confident. Bright. Delighted. 

“I am Matt,” he confirmed, chin lifting - this time with pride - “and we will go home, Peter.”

Peter’s eyes shot open, and, in the dark, on his chest, pressing him gently down into the bed, was the very same red-and-gold demon, talons sinking into a tank-top labeled  _ LOL BRB _ in luminous font. 

Mouth open, still half-asleep, Peter stared into the twin pinpricks of lantern-light surrounded by rusty softness, and realized [quite literally] the weight of what he’d done. One hand lifted to cup Matt’s cheek, and the demon closed his eyes with a hum of satisfaction. Eddie, still sound asleep beside them in the bed, rolled over with a vague grumble, arms flexing and crossing over his chest. 

“Matt,” Peter whispered, just once more. The demon lowered his head to Peter’s own, snuggling in under his jaw. “You’re  _ real. _ ”

“Yes,” the demon murmured, possessive nails still clutching pale pink-and-blue fabric, “and I am  _ yours. _ ”

“...neat,” Peter said faintly, eyes rolling slowly back toward the ceiling as if trying to wake up more fully. “That’s - that’s neat, Matty.”

If this was the reality, well - 

He could deal with all of it tomorrow. 

Eddie would understand.


	4. Reaching an Agreement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Contractors and renovators are used to making deals, but one with an actual demon? Let's see how that pans out for the lads.

###  “ **PETER** ,” Eddie shouted so hard the walls shook. Matt clapped a clawed hand to either ear, grimacing tautly. “We are _TAKING_ him **BACK** to that **HOUSE**!”

“No,” Matt said, squinting an eye unnecessarily as he pried one hand away, testing the waters when silence fell, “I will not go.”

The argument had been the same for  _ hours  _ now - hours following the gentlest of wakeups when Peter needed to dislodge Matt to go use the restroom. In the process, he’d instructed Matt not to wake Eddie.

“Just - sit there and look cute, okay?” Golden eyes had blinked in his general direction while the demon tilted his head. “Yeah, just like that! Okay…” Peter beat a hasty retreat to the ensuite, and all went quiet. 

Running the water and washing his face before attending to all the basic hygiene he could while under pressure, Peter tried to figure out the best way to break the ice about their situation. There were demons - at least one demon. He was real, and he was in their house, probably because of Peter. Glancing down at the arm that’d been inflamed for days, all Peter could see now were a couple of dark catlike-scratches. Almost as if he’d caught his arm in a blackberry bush, or something. Water ran across the ridges of the little scars, too, and Peter went back to brushing his teeth.

He’d break it to Eddie slowly. He’d make breakfast for a change! Nothing suspicious about that. He could pour cereal with the best of them, after all. And he’d put Matt somewhere inconspicuous, maybe get him some clothes, and they’d be on their way to explaining the situation nicely.

“WHAT THE  **FUCK** !”

Eddie’s screech from the other room indicated otherwise, however - as Peter yanked the toothbrush out of his mouth, spat in the sink, and hastily rinsed before flying back to the door to the bedroom like a bat out of Hell.

Eddie was halfway up onto the headboard of the bed, one hand wrapped around the silver Star of David he never removed, the other outstretched to put distance between himself and the demon who, to his credit, was simply sitting criss-cross where Peter had left him, head innocently tilting first to the left, then to the right. The deep glow of his amber eyes crinkled with fiery amusement, and the baring of his teeth seemed more smile than snarling sneer. 

“Eddie,” Peter called out feebly from the bathroom door, “baby, it’s okay. It’s--”

“It is MOST DEFINITELY not okay, PETER, that THING is in our HOUSE!” He brandished the Star of David at Matt, who only flinched a little around the eyes - nose crinkling subtly. 

“Eddie, just - calm down, baby, breathe for a second for me, would ya?” Peter motioned with a hand for Matt to stay put, and the other hand made a shushing gesture for Eddie [who gave Peter back a look of total disbelief surpassing just about any other]. Flashing both boys on the bed a reassuring smile, Peter shrugged with his hands. “Okay. The quiet is good. Listen...Eddie…”

Peter took a step out of the ensuite, leisurely pacing toward the bed. Matt turned slightly to face him, a soft  _ chirrup  _ of interest following. The tension ebbed [at least for Peter] immediately, and one hand lifted to cup the side of Matt’s face once he was in arm’s length.

It didn’t quite make it, as Eddie whapped the nearest pillow down on Peter instead. “Ow!”

At once, the demon went from docile housecat to bristling feral, rounding on Eddie with a growl; hackles raised and flaming eyes hotly bright. Eddie dropped the offending object immediately and went back to clutching his Star, eyes wide. The foot he had propped on the headboard like he was two seconds away from filming a Captain Morgan commercial wobbled precariously. Matt bared all his sharp little teeth at Eddie and Peter, rubbing his offended forearm, sighed.

“Look - I don’t really know how to explain it, but I don’t think he means us any harm, Eddie. I mean - look at him!” Peter reached over despite Eddie’s rasped protest of “ _ nononono _ ” and laid a hand on Matt’s cheek as he originally intended. Immediately, the demon relaxed, purring and snuggling into the pocket of Peter’s palm. One finger rubbed behind a pointed ear, and Matt thumped a foot against the bed, eyes drifting shut. 

“Isn’t he  _ so cute _ ?” Peter exclaimed. Eddie, clutching his Star so tightly the points bit into his hand, tried to find words that best suited the situation.

“No, Peter, because he’s an  _ actual fucking DEMON. _ ” Not exactly the most nuanced or nicest option when it came to words, but it got the point across. 

“Not a demon,” Matt said, startling both men simultaneously. Eddie blinked in bewilderment, back pressed to the wall behind the headboard. Peter, glancing down, smiled a little, shifting his rubbing finger along Matt’s jaw and under his chin instead. Matt tilted his head back, little dark claws kneading the duvet. Eddie watched with despair as the dark blue fabric shredded with a shocking amount of ease. “I’m a Matt.”

“A Matt,” Eddie echoed blankly, “what the hell is ‘a Matt’?”

“That’s his name,” Peter explained, cooing softly over the way Matt nosed his fingers, begging for more attention. Eddie stared between them, and Peter encouragingly added, “that’s what I called him. Matt.”

“You named a demon Matt.”

“It’s short for Matthew.”

“I KNOW WHAT IT’S SHORT FOR, PETER! I’m wondering  _ why-- _ ?” Eddie shrieked softly as Matt suddenly manifested beside him on the headboard, perched precariously as a daredevil on a tightrope, mere inches from his face. Eddie shot backwards off the bed with another strangled yell, knocked over the table-lamp, and slammed; scrabbling, into the wall opposite. Now atop his throne of cherry wood, Matt scrunched his face and sat back on his heels, sighing deeply. Almost as if disappointed.

“You are noisy,” he told Eddie, as if it was news. Peter giggled in spite of himself and promptly ducked his head to avoid the daggers Eddie glared his way, clearing his throat.

“Now - Matt, c’mon, you’re scaring him. How about we just - talk about this like friends?”

“I’m your fucking  _ husband _ ,  **first of all,** so jot that down,” Eddie hissed, arms flailing, simultaneous with Peter overriding him with:

“Oh, so what, you’re not my friend?” 

Which got interspersed with Eddie’s rebuttal of “of  **course** I’m your friend, you’re my best friend, which is why I’m telling you--” And on they went, squabbling back and forth:

“Eddie trust me when I say this is fine, he’s fine, we’re all fine --” “ _ Peter that thing is not like us _ \--” “how can you say that! We’re supposed to be inclusionary--” “ _ the queer code does NOT cover LITERAL DEMONS, Peter Quill _ \--” “WELL,  _ Eddie  _ Quill, I’ll have you know --”

“ _ Enough _ ,” Matt said lightly - and both men found themselves on opposite walls of the room, pinned in place for the briefest of moments. Eddie’s face took on a look of pure terror, beyond the nerves he’d already displayed - and Peter, on the other hand [and the other wall], had nothing but delight in his eyes, followed by a faint laugh of “ohohoho, cinnamon-sugar is  _ powerful _ !”

“Not a good thing,” Eddie eked out, neck and face red from the strain of having to force the words free. 

“Cinn-a-mon su-gar,” Matt repeated back to Peter slowly, brow furrowing. Peter nodded, managing to make two thumbs up at his new...charge? Ward? He wasn’t sure what to call him. Guest, maybe. That sounded better.

“Yeah - it’s a snack, I’ll show you later.”

“The hell you will,” Eddie snarled, and Peter shrunk back against the wall a bit, scowling.

“I would like this,” Matt decided. Peter and Eddie’s feet found the floor as the demon released them, absently running his tongue across the back of his hand before rubbing it against a cheek. It was such a bizarrely disarming display it almost made Eddie forget what the hell had just happened - but no.

Turning on a heel, legs wobbly, Eddie started making a beeline for the door of the room. “Nope. None of this bullshit. I don’t need to hear - or feel, or experience - anymore! He’s going back to that fucking house or I’m gonna sage his ass out. I got a SMUDGE STICK,” he snapped over his broad shoulder at Matt, still on the headboard. “And from what I’ve read, shit’s about to get  _ very  _ unpleasant for you when I light that motherfucker u--AH!” 

Matt was, of course, now innocently standing in the doorway. Eddie hadn’t realized, initially, that they were the same height - so lithe and oddly-contorted the other man - the  _ demon  _ \- had been that he appeared so much smaller. Ghoulish grin on his face, Matt brushed noses with Eddie, one hand lifting to press against his chest.

“Rabbit heart,” he noted mildly - and Eddie tensed, glowering at the demon - who only smiled wider. Taking a step closer, Matt walked Eddie backwards into the room again, where Peter stood, hands on his hips, working his mouth into a worried little line. 

“I am here because Peter...gave me a door,” Matt said contritely, nodding in Peter’s general direction. Eddie’s eyes ticked to Peter, who shrugged and silently mouthed  _ I don’t know _ which was met with Eddie’s equally silent  _ I will kill you. _

Something soft landed on Eddie’s face to draw back his attention, and Eddie brought his hands up to deflect, but - 

Instead, the man found himself descending into twin pools of honey. Sticky-sweet, serenely swirling, refracting from within like a million little fragments of sunlight through a fine gemstone. His mouth sagged a little in spite of himself, the shock of the gentle hands on his face and the nebulous gleam of bright eyes rendering him speechless. 

All his discomfort; fear, and anger drained away in an instead, washed aside by the waves of saffron and dandelion, fields upon fields he descended through, sinking deep into the warmth therein. A sunny day, a slow-moving Sunday with brunches and gentle embraces, letting the sky kiss color into his skin - 

Eddie was there, and he was in the room, staring dazedly into the eyes of a demon whose purring voice filled his skull like a symphony of cicadas; bees, the lazy sounds of Summertime. An August swamp, for how murky and sticky his thoughts became, dissolving into the agave-sweet glow. Pleasure flooded every fiber of his body; the system overloading with the rising temperature.

_ “You want me here,” _ the voice said. It was a fact. Eddie nodded, a drunken bob of his head. The demon in front of him performed the same gesture, though his came with a near-cobra sway of suggestion. Eddie fell in time with that smooth roll, rocking a little from left to right.  _ “I make Peter happy. You like Peter happy.”  _ Eddie nodded again, dark eyes half-lidded. Matt’s fingers pattered across his face, little taps of leathery pads, and Eddie smiled faintly. 

He usually hated that - the face-touching thing. The first time Peter’d done it, though, had been the first time Eddie hadn’t succumbed to anger right off the bat. This was a bit like that. Being held as an almost-precious thing, cradled by an infinite amount of comfort. Tempting to just lean into it and let it carry him away on a river of mead. 

Peter, watching all of this happen, was almost equally mesmerized - till a few flakes of dust caught him the wrong way, of course, and he sneezed unexpectedly into his elbow.

The spell shattered, and Eddie’s lashes fluttered. Matt drew his hands away with a smug little smirk while the human in front of him sputtered and regrouped. Matt could hear the heart-rate kick back up, feel the force with which Eddie drew breath, and, sighing reproachfully, prepared himself for another round of chaos.

“You see that?!” Eddie shouted, scooting back a step or two and pointing at Matt accusingly, “he just tried to HYPNOTIZE me, Peter! That’s - that’s some evil behavior right there,  _ and  _ he just threw us against the walls!” 

“Eddie, he’s just - he’s new, okay? I think he might be new! He didn’t even have a name before we met him -”

“Before YOU met him,” Eddie corrected hotly. Peter winced. Matt skulked back to his side, wedging his head up under Peter’s arm to rub against his chest. Eddie, seeing more red than just the color of Matt’s fuzz, looked around for something else to throw - this time a slipper from by the door, which landed nowhere near either of them. Peter looked hurt by the gesture nonetheless, though, and Eddie kicked himself internally. 

“Pleaaase, Eddie?” Peter stooped a little to get more on Matt’s level, squishing his cheek against Matt’s own. The demon squinted, then huffed and snuggled in under Peter’s chin instead; stubbornly. It was...endearing. He had to admit -  **_no._ **

Drawing in a breath, Eddie snapped, 

“PETER! - We are taking him BACK to that HOUSE!”

“No,” Matt said, patient as ever, “I will not go.”

“Just - just a few days, Eddie, please,” Peter begged, wrapping both arms around Matt to draw him in. Eddie stared at them, beyond his limit and then some. But Peter only looked like  _ that  _ when he genuinely cared about something; and,  _ sure,  _ the last time it had been the last Lego Death Star they had on-shelves at a local store, but...he was also incessant if he didn’t get what he wanted, and what was worse was The Face(™) he made - as if Eddie had just said he was leaving, or the world was ending, or something.

Nothing hurt quite like that face.

Against his better judgment - and running the quick tally of problems that had come so far from knowing the demon currently in-hand -  **_literally_ ** \- Eddie thought it over. There’d been no instances of fire, or flood, or famine - just Peter being weird, which...he now had an explanation for. And maybe the devil had hypnotized them both. Maybe he was weak; soft on the man that he loved. A little too soft, he figured, seeing how the demon pressed his lips and nose to the underside of Peter’s face.

“Okay,” Eddie said abruptly. “That’s enough. I’m givin’ this a  _ one-week _ ,” he held up a single finger for emphasis, “trial run. ONE. WEEK. If we survive, by the end, we can reconvene on the outcome, BUT. The  _ minute  _ this goes south, Peter…” Eddie glared at the overeager boy on the precipice of bursting; enthusiasm in his green-hazel eyes. 

“You’re on your own.”

“Eddieeee!” Peter swung away from Matt to engulf him in a hug of long limbs, practically barreling him over with the sheer force of his joy. “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou! I promise he’ll be so, so good, I’ve got so much to tell you about what he can do and we’re gonna have the BEST time, it’s so exciting, we have a new family member--”

“Temporary,” Eddie insisted, muffled against Peter’s shoulder. Matt cocked his head behind Peter, and Eddie stuck a hand out toward him with a deep; disgruntled sigh. “C’mere. Shake on it.”

He should’ve known better, because the next thing he knew, there were dozens of little needlelike teeth embedded in his hand. 

In the midst of yelling again -  _ “Matt! NO! No biting!” “WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY?! WHAT DID I TELL YOU, PETER!” -  _

There was laughter. Mostly from the demon. A little bit from Peter.

It was gonna be one hell of a week.


	5. The Care and Feeding of Your Demon 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> getting to know you  
> getting to be terrified by youuuu  
> [to the tune from the King & I]  
> shut up this is my best summary yet

###  **The first thing Eddie did was seize an unused journal from the bookshelves of the living room to designate to note-taking.**

Call him old-fashioned, but he’d also read up on the electromagnetic interference of the supernatural - didn’t want to take  _ any  _ chances on whether or not those rumors were true when it came to this important research. And, namely, he preferred taking notes by hand. They tended to resonate more for other people - especially Peter, whose focus on electronic screens was suboptimal at best.  _ And  _ he squinted frequently, declining all insistence on seeing [ha, ha] an eye doctor.

But that was how they all wound up in the living room, Peter sitting on the floor with Matt, and Eddie perched on a chair nearby, grimly scribbling down initial observations. He’d put a ring of salt around Matt for the time being, just in case - on top of a tarp, of course, which he’d laid out as a precaution. 

Matt didn’t seem overly-fond of the tarp - every time he shifted, it made a little noise that brought a crinkle to his nose and a furrow between his brows. When asked if he wanted clothes, the demon had simply answered, “why?” to which Eddie and Peter didn’t really have an answer to satisfy. 

Thus; naked, red, on a bright blue plastic tarp, surrounded by a thin circle of salt, eating cinnamon-sugar toast, sat their demon. Well.  _ Peter’s  _ demon, Eddie told himself - though the argument could be made that, in being married, they now shared everything.

Save the look of excitement Peter had as Matt sniffed the toast, ran his tongue across the grainy sweetness, and drew back with a snort of surprise. Peter’s chin fell to his hands, bare toes wiggling with excitement as he sat cross-legged off to the side. Matt crunched down on the corner of the bread after giving it another curious sniff - then began to gobble in earnest, chomping away at the crusty edges of the challah.

“We need to know everything about you,” Eddie said slowly, tapping his pen against the journal pages, “so we know what your needs are and so we don’t end up getting eaten by you in the dead of night.” Peter frowned and twisted around in place to glare at Eddie on the chair. Eddie made a face back at him. “We literally have no context for this other than YOU named him and he GOT HERE somehow,  _ probably  _ through you. Do you have any better ideas, Peter Jason Quill?” Pouting profusely, Peter swung back around to face Matt without answering.

“That’s what I fucking thought,” Eddie said under his breath - satisfied with the argument’s win, if nothing else. 

Matt had finished the second piece of toast in record time, setting about instead to clean off his fingers. Eddie jotted down that the pads of those digits looked leathery and rough; more animal than man - a sentence that took a couple of rewrites because Peter kept softly whispering  _ “beans beans beans beans beans” _ and reaching across the circle to try and snag Matt’s hand. The demon, bemused by this, moved out of the way with fluidity and ease, golden eyes sparkling.

“Gentlemen,” Eddie said curtly, “can you  _ please  _ focus.” Peter drew his hand back from Matt with a reluctant sigh, and the demon in question canted his head Eddie’s way.  _ Horns like a goat, bright yellow eyes, vermilion fur… _ a bullet-pointed list of descriptions followed, and, dropping back to sketch a bit of Matt on the page adjacent, Eddie emphasized:

“We need to know everything about you. So - if you can, please start talking.”

“Of course I can talk, Ed-die,” Matt said - the name a little bit of a rise and fall on his tongue; smile coyly coiling around the corners of his lips. The way it was said drew a nasty shiver down Eddie’s spine. “Especially now that you both have fed me so graciously.” He turned his smile Peter’s way, and it became a much prettier; softer one - a contented cat letting themselves face the sun. Eddie couldn’t blame him for it, really - Peter was just  _ like that. _

“That was my first hu-man meal,” Matt added - then grinned outright, nodding in Eddie’s direction. “Aren’t you going to write that down, Ed-die?” The renovator tensed, hand tightening around the utensil caught between his fingers. 

He did, however, write it down. It felt important. Cinnamon-sugar toast. “If I had known that, I would’ve said something else for your...first meal,” Eddie muttered. Peter, however, beamed from ear to ear, hands lifting to clasp Matt’s face over the line drawn between them in the meantime.

“Well  _ I  _ think it’s fitting! He’s sweet like cinnamon-sugar, aren’t you, Matty?” The demon uttered a low and resonant hum - one that Eddie jumped at, and one that Peter cooed over. It sounded not unlike a motor revving to life.

It took a few moments for either of them to realize, but when they did -

“He’s  _ purring, _ ” they chorused, Peter’s tone gleeful to Eddie’s skeptical disbelief. Matt glanced up at the interruption, then chuckled softly, drawing his face out of Peter’s palms.

“I do that sometimes.”

“And he  _ jokes, _ ” Peter said. Matt’s eyes crinkled a little.

“He does that sometimes too.”

The little gasp of joy Peter made seemed to tickle the demon, whose thrumming returned full force. Stretching out a little within the confines of his ring, Matt considered where to start. Humans were, at the very least, unpredictable - and noisy - he figured anywhere would suffice. They didn’t exactly seem organized. Not like Hell, which even in its chaos, had  _ systems. _

“You know much about me already,” said Matt, “in that you found me in the House of Murdock, where I was last summoned over…” He paused, doing some math. “A century or so ago. It is...hard to recall. Time…” A clawed hand shifted through the air; impatiently. “Moves differently, down below.”

“Hell?” Peter whispered. Matt leaned conspiratorially closer to the edge of his ring.

“Hell,” he whispered back in confirmation, then settled back on his haunches once more. “I was made to be the foil of Just-ice. I look bey-ond...to the places in hu-mans that they try to hide. Their...truths.” How to explain it best? His eyes narrowed in concentration as dark talons drummed against soft red lips. 

“Though I cannot see you, I know that you; Ed-die, are afraid.” There was an anticipated jolt and a rustle; the heart of the burlier man rocketing around in his chest again. Matt smiled pointedly, swiveling Peter’s way. “And you, Pe-ter, want to kiss me again. Many, many times.” 

“I do!” Peter said brightly - then paused, blinking. “Wait - what do you mean, you can’t see us?” Eddie glanced up from his scribblings at that, looking between Matt and Peter. The demon shrugged his soft red shoulders. Eddie absently added a few smudges with a thumb on the sketch he’d drawn of Matt - texture to echo the waves of downy fur. He didn’t even bother to stop Peter when the man reached for Matt again, stroking his cheek.

“My maker made me more efficient than most,” Matt murmured, snuggling his face back into the palm of Peter’s hand. “Right now…” His tongue darted out to brush over Peter’s thumb, eliciting a startled giggle from the human holding him. 

“I know you had...something called chock-lit earlier,” he informed Peter quietly. “The beans for it come from somewhere called…” His voice slowed; molasses and sweet: “Gua-te-ma-la. The woman who picked them wished her lover would leave his wife…” He swept his tongue across Peter’s palm more directly. “I can taste...your sweat. The soap you used. Rosemary. Oil.” Drawing back, he nipped at a fingertip, almost suckling. Peter’s laughter fell hoarsely away. 

“I know the last time you pleasured yourself,” Matt hummed - and felt the skin heat up under his mouth, just as he figured it might. His grin was broad as he withdrew, the swimming, reddish shadows of his vision rippling with waves of fire over the shape of Peter - trembling, as all things do in a world on fire, but not with fright. 

No - that was Eddie. Matt rolled his shoulders and turned Eddie’s way again, hands dropping down to clasp his ankles. Long, forked tail snaking to-and-fro behind him, he made no sign that the salt ring had been disrupted with all his absentminded lashing. It wasn’t exactly like Eddie had blessed it, or anything. He’d tried, but - 

There were only specific ways to hold demons such as he. Rings of salt, a pocketful of prayer, and a shaky hand wrapped around a Star of David were  _ not  _ it. Though he did wish Eddie would take the symbol off. It made things mildly uncomfortable for him.

“Your Star bothers me,” Matt said abruptly. “That is a fact for you.”

“Good,” Eddie grumbled - followed by “ow” as Peter reached back to shove his leg. It led to the nudge of a toe against Peter’s side, and back-and-forth they went. Matt rolled his eyes and waited.

“In what way does it bother you?”

“Itches,” Matt said, dropping back to one word, “makes me tired.” Then three. The burst of fuel from the toast - _ kneaded by old hands as dough, steady and practiced. Muriel. Has been doing this sixty years. Helps the kids at the deli. Del-i. _ “What is ‘deli’?” Matt asked.

“It’s -” Peter was wrestling with Eddie, crawling up onto the seat to reach him as the notebook fell away, Eddie crushed beneath his husband’s insistent groping. “It’s like a - Eddie just take the necklace off -”

“NO!”

“It’s a --” Peter squawked as Eddie grappled him into a little headlock, crushing him  _ just enough. _ “A restaurant,” Peter said, voice slightly strangled, “like a - it makes sandwiches and stuff. Bakery...items…” Matt’s face stayed curiously blank as he mulled over this answer, nodding to himself. Dark brows shifted skyward as he reached a conclusion.

“Want to go,” he decided, “want to have more of the bread.” 

“We have bread here,” Eddie replied stonily, releasing Peter. He didn’t take the necklace off as Peter rolled off the seat to starfish on the floor, but at least tucked it under his henley for safekeeping. “Besides, you can’t just...go outside looking like that, Matt. Humans won’t take kindly to a guy in a devil suit - and who knows if any of them might actually recognize you for what you are? And besides…” Eddie scooped his journal off the floor and sat back, legs strewn over the arm of the chair, sitting sideways instead of normal. The writing utensil tapped against his mouth. “We have so much more ground to cover - we need to talk about your powers, what your intent is, whether or not you plan to take our souls to HELL, I think that’s a mighty important one…”

“Looking like what, Eddie?” Matt cut in politely. Peter looked up from where he’d been sulking on the ground and nearly sprang to his feet with surprise, instead scrabbling upright to scoot closer to the circle, rubbing his eyes. Eddie glanced up from what he was writing down for to-dos on the checklist in the journal and paused outright; ensnared by the sudden appearance of - 

A man. A man with the same dark brown hair, the same little crooked smile as the demon, but a human nonetheless. His bare shoulders were adorned with freckles; dozens of tiny angelic kisses and constellations scattered over the ridges of his shoulders. Creamy skin underneath it was nothing short of seamless, woven across muscle; from firm bicep to thick thigh and - 

“Oh - my god -” Eddie didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but his hand dropped over his eyes at the realization that the man -  _ Matt  _ \- was, in fact, still nude. Peter simply gawked, gleefully examining every inch - indeed,  _ every  _ inch - of Matt he could see; ogling to his heart’s content. Hazel eyes still held a dreamy sort of honey glow when the light hit them just right, and there was a little bit of the red caught up in the hickory hair - like a log roasting in a hearth, sparks clinging to the kindling. The scent of coriander mingled with cinnamon and sugar still hung in the air; a saccharine haze with an edge to it. 

Little by little, Peter’s face morphed from innocent [well, “innocent”] delight to an expression of impish revelry.

“We-e-ell,” he reasoned aloud, as Eddie fumbled to undo the flannel from around his hips, half-flailing out of the armchair to do so, “that solves one problem, I’d say. Matt, you’re just as cute as a human as you are a demon, y’know.”

“How can you STILL be taking this in stride?” Eddie hissed out of the corner of his mouth. The flannel flicked Matt’s way, landing neatly on his lap. The demon folded his hands atop it, leaning forward with a languid stretch, broad shoulders bowing. Peter watched with perpetual contentment, still smirking to himself. “He’s still  _ naked,”  _ Eddie said, getting fully to his feet to stalk off - probably to find more options for clothes.

Matt grinned at Peter, kneading a little at the flannel he’d been given. “I do not see the problem.” A pause, and then: “I do not... _ see  _ much of anything.”

“Still a jokester,” Peter crowed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, “I like that so much about you, Matt.” Kicking aside a bit of the salt, Peter scooted closer to him, voice lowering. “So you really don’t see  _ anything _ ?” Matt hesitated. 

He could’ve eluded the question; evaded it with a maneuver of the Calling behind his eyes - that’s what it was referred to, anyway - when he  _ Called  _ someone to him, or  _ Called  _ them to make a choice. To follow a sin. To chase a hunger. To...do many things that felt a bit like tipping the scales of justice in favor of the darkness. But he could’ve Called Peter to forget his query entirely. Distracted him with a kiss. 

Instead, Matt swallowed, trying to sink down to the place where all his words lived when they weren’t being used to Make a Call, or condemn, or invoke a flame.

“...Fire,” Matt said finally, blinking into the shady realm of drifting embers.

“Nothing but the fires that made me.”

Their silence, hands held, observing one another as Peter’s thumbs brushed over Matt’s more human hands, was interrupted only by Eddie flouncing back into the living room, arms full of clothing to throw on the ground. Even so, the din was muffled. 

All Matt could hear was the steady beating of Peter’s heart as it telegraphed him something that wasn’t obvious. It felt new, it felt different. In the evaporating sweat of his palms, Matt tasted something else. Bittersweet, almost - 

_ Hope,  _ his brain supplied, as Eddie distantly gabbed on and on about how they’d barely accomplished anything today, and now they had a naked man in their house who could sometimes be a demon, or vice-versa…

“...and _hope_ ,” Matt said aloud; thoughtfully, and felt the warm air shift from bonfire to sunlight as Peter sent a smile his way.


	6. Maintaining the Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One week trial to purchase the tender loving care of one (1) demon boy. At the end of the week, are the boys willing to pay for premium? Stay tuned like Spotify, folks, it's gonna be a hell of a ride.

###  There were a _lot_ of logistics to consider.

Eddie kept telling them both as much, over and over, as Matt tried on one article of clothing after another. How they needed to explain who he was to any of their friends [as he dodged a sock flung sideways in his general direction]; what to do if one of the neighbors saw him [“I am discreet,” the demon informed him, shimmying out of the vest Peter’d helped him into],  _ boundaries  _ regarding things like  _ hypnosis  _ [“you think I look nice,” Matt informed him brightly, a baseball hat jauntily sitting sideways on his head, to which Eddie automatically responded “you look  _ very _ nice--goddammit, Matt!”]...

Altogether, it was like a fashion show from  _ Hell. _

_ Nothing  _ seemed to suit. If it wasn’t too stiff [a button-up was almost shredded in Matt’s overeagerness to be rid of the thing], it had the wrong texture entirely [whether Eddie or Peter owned the corduroy stayed a mystery as neither of them would admit to it], or he just plain...didn’t want it. Flannel after jacket after polo got thrown on the floor in a heap, and when they tried to wrest jeans onto Matt, the human guise dropped entirely and he popped a hole clean through the back with the vicious reappearance of his long, forked tail.

Surrounded by the debris of scattered clothing, with nothing on Matt but a very soft cashmere scarf [which he kept rubbing his cheek on as if in the hopes of liberally applying his scent to it], Peter had suggested a food and music break. The mention of food perked Matt right up, and he scampered after Peter into the kitchen, not quite upright, more of a skip on all fours. Eddie, left behind to maneuver the cyclone’s fabric remains, took a deep breath - 

It was only for a week. There was nothing to worry about. So far, he hadn’t set anything on fire or broken anything other than a fine pair of Madewells. They’d muddle through that tiny disaster.

Peter had already moved on to more chaos himself, anyhow. He’d dragged the record-player out from its little cabinet with an Elvis vinyl, chattering away to Matthew in the process - explaining everything about Elvis and the music he could think of, so rapid-fire in delivering the information he tripped over every other word, running from fun fact to obscure topic.

“We know Elvis,” Matt informed Peter mildly. Peter’s face lit up as he slid the record home under the needle, turning the machine on to play.

“Oh?”

“Yes. He is popular.” A beat. “Below.”

“Oh? Oh…”

The awkward silence that followed for a beat or two after that was punctuated only by Eddie shuffling into the kitchen to start figuring out what the hell he was supposed to make for a demon and a deer-in-the-headlights husband who’d bitten off more than he could possibly chew. 

Noodles he had. Onions, peppers, veggies he had. Rice vinegar, tamarind paste, and so on - he could make a pad thai. Easy enough, and, if he dialed back the broccoli, something Peter didn’t mind eating from time to time.

As he prepped, Peter danced - first something almost ragtime and ridiculous, bopping circles around the very startled demon -  _ puffs up when alarmed,  _ Eddie noted, seeing the darker hair on Matt’s back stand to attention. The rustier shades followed suit, though much more subtly. It was...comical, really, despite how bizarre it was.  _ Coloring like a...maned wolf? _ Eddie racked his brain for the last documentary he’d seen on those little bastards.  _ Got a sweet face like a red panda, though. _

Frowning at himself, Eddie went back to focusing on cooking. Peanut oil, fish sauce, and so on - lots of little ingredients to concentrate on that didn’t involve the tail he felt lashing behind him, every so often swatting him on the leg. He was glad the oil that splashed him when he jolted was cold the first time.

He supposed he’d only have to endure this for one week.

Peter, on the other hand, was doing anything other than enduring. With a bright laugh, he seized Matt’s hands and tugged him away from trying to climb onto the counter, spiriting him into a twirling number. “Devil in Disguise” felt a little on the nose, but neither of the two swingers seemed to mind. And swing they did, nearly upending the ingredients Eddie carefully laid out - be it by the passing whip of Peter’s flannel or the repeated whipping of Matt’s tail as before. 

The song floated through the air like a background number in a romantic comedy - or, God forbid, some Disney movie - as Eddie continued to shake pans and stir; the two boys behind him having the time of their lives. 

It would become a nightly ritual, apparently - the music, the mayhem, and the meal. Kind of summed them all up nicely in a way Eddie hadn’t expected.

But then again, none of this had been planned at all.

**_You look like an angel…_ **

Eddie had gone out to find Matthew something suitable to wear. Kept the tags on, hit the sales racks for the softest things, and come up with a cotton-polyester blend he didn’t seem to hate - the black-and-yellow flannel was almost as soft as Matt himself was when fuzzy, and the demon spent a great deal of time rubbing his cheek across the gridlock pattern before they convinced him to put it on over a plain, tri-blend t-shirt. Jeans were absolutely out of the question, as they’d determined before, but a pair of sweatpants with a little fleece lining seemed to do the trick. One outfit down, and...however many others needed to go.

Matt had suggested wrapping himself in shadows and flame, but Peter had suggested that might not be the most tenable option in the long-run. “The long-run being a week, of course,” Peter hastened to add, catching Eddie’s sardonic cock of a brow. 

“Of course,” Eddie and Matt chorused - one tone dry, the other understanding. 

“No flames,” Eddie added warningly.

Matt had only smiled.

**_Walk like an angel…_ **

Once he had clothes, however, convincing him to shift back to a more human appearance had been shockingly easy. All Peter had to do, apparently, was pull Matt’s hands up to either side of his face and whisper “please, baby?” before Matt was abruptly human again - the same freckly visage as before, with the earnest, doe-like hazel eyes that caught the light and cast it strangely under his lashes every so often. It seemed as though Peter could ask anything of him, and Matt might be inclined to oblige. Eddie wasn’t much better off, though - Peter had suggested they take Matt outside for a walk, and Eddie had flat-out refused. 

“Out of the question, Peter.”

“ _ Please,  _ Eddie? He’ll be good.” As if it was second nature, Peter had promptly scooped Matt away from guzzling M&Ms from a candy dish and into his arms instead, tucking his chin over Matt’s head; peering up at Eddie in utmost earnestness. Matt had uttered a little  _ chrp?? _ of surprise before grappling onto Peter with his taloned limbs - startled back to his true self by the gesture. 

But between the purring that filled the otherwise-silent living room air, and the big beguiling eyes he could  _ never  _ decline, Eddie buckled, much to his chagrin.

“ _ Fine. _ One quick lap around the block. But that is  _ it. _ And he has to stay human.” 

“Deal!” Peter said gleefully - and set Matt back down; a regular man again, before rushing off to gather up a jacket and his shoes.

Eddie and Matt exchanged a Look, though it was more on Eddie’s end, he realized, than on Matt’s - though the cunning smile was back, and all the faux-innocence that came with the cuddles and the caresses he shared with Peter melted away. At least, in Eddie’s eyes.

“Do  _ not  _ blow this for us,” Eddie whispered fiercely, one finger lifting in Matt’s general direction. The demon cocked his head before sticking his tongue out at Eddie, waltzing away to steal a pair of shoes for himself. Agape, Eddie flung out his hands, trotting after both husband and unexpected house-guest. “Did they teach you that in Hell? PETER! Did you give this boy bad manners?”

“Nooo…”

**_Talk like an angel…_ **

Outside was okay, for the most part - Matt clung to Peter’s arm for a while while they walked, the fresh burst of chill Autumn air leaving the demon to occasionally bury his nose in Peter’s flannel and leather. When asked why, he simply muttered, “too many” and refused to elaborate. Eddie had taken out his notepad and, on a whim of speculation, jotted down  _ scent overload? Sound overload? Both? _

From what he could discern, Matt’s remaining senses were stronger than the one he lacked - he’d shown as much with how he’d enthusiastically nuzzled up to Peter after another round of toast, or how his ears perked at times when he caught sounds that hadn’t come yet to Peter or Eddie. They didn’t quite stand to attention like an animal’s, but rather - there was a little twitch at the pointy tip; something of a signal - more batlike than anything else. 

When it happened in the street was when the real problems started, however.

Peter had Matt arm-in-arm with himself for a moment or two, chattering away as he explained where they were walking - Brooklyn was beautiful this time of year, the leaves a varying mosaic ombre going from scarlet to gold - the gradient of which, when lit by the sun, looked not unlike a million different hues of fire. Describing that to Matt was met with a bemused smirk, the demon-as-a-man muttering politely, “but it is  _ cold, _ Pe-Ter” before huddling up against his side a little bit more. 

Everything seemed to be going okay as they took the loop back toward their building - that is, until Peter happened to glance down to find his arm vacated and Matt nowhere to be seen. He spun in a circle; dread hitting him below the ribs, and, shading his eyes, tried to find hide or hair of their strange new accomplice in the passersby. Heart hammering, Peter tilted his head back to look over the steps and trees scattered to line the sidewalk -

And that was when he spotted Matt, a brand-new gargoyle perched on the roof of a building - hanging off the side, with one hand half-shifted, outstretched, attempting to wrest a pigeon from its gutter-nest. Eddie - who’d stopped to chat with a neighbor - didn’t seem to notice - and thus, Peter took the opportunity to frantically hiss and motion to the sidewalk with a  _ PSPSPSPS  _ that spat out of him like a firehose. Matt quirked a brow, slowly recoiling his hand from the nest, before scampering back down the drainpipe - 

Vanishing mid-scuttle to reappear by Peter’s side, smug grin on his face and freckles illuminated by the faintest of flushes. 

“Hungry,” Matt explained, as if it was a groundbreaking discovery. And maybe it was - apparently he consumed energy more than he ever had regular food before, after all. Peter blew out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and, with a shaky laugh, pulled Matt in to kiss the top of his head. The demon went still against him before melting, pressing the crown of his head beneath Peter’s chin. Wiry arms wrapped around Peter’s middle and held fast, while Peter mirrored the same from above, catching Matt around the shoulders to hold him steady. Inhaling, Peter caught different scents than before - something smoky-sweet, like burnt marshmallow, or a cinnamon bun. Fitting, he supposed. 

He let himself sink into it a little, his face pressed against Matt’s hair, snuggled down on the sidewalk. They had their own little world in the middle of their street, and Peter swore he heard Matt’s voice, clearer than his broken patterns of speech thus far, speak to him:  _ I will not go far from you again, Peter. _

It spoke more to him than he could ever possibly say. A lump formed in his throat; unanticipated as it was undeniable. He’d come a long way from Missouri, a long way from running place to place, unable to settle. He thought he’d found a home with Eddie; sure, between the ones they built and the one they made together - but in truth, it was more the people who felt like home, to Peter. His friends, his loved ones, and now - 

Matt counted among them, clearly. So suddenly, but so absolute. 

“You fellas wanna break it up?” Eddie asked dryly, and the enchanting reverie changed. They were back on the walkway, not just warmly embracing, but actually...dead-center of the sidewalk where people flowed around them, side-eyeing the two sentimental bastards currently cuddled up to one another. Peter laughed sheepishly, starting to withdraw, but Matt clung like a burr for a moment or two longer, finally pulling away only to take one of Peter’s hands instead.

There was an odd little silence that settled against them all, the hubbub of their road notwithstanding. Matt, with his chin on Peter’s bicep, Peter with a hand in Matt’s own, and a hand in Eddie’s. Eddie, looking at Matt before glancing back at Peter.

A dog barked its excitement, however, and shattered the secondary lull. Matt  _ immediately  _ lost his hold on human shape and exploded onto Peter’s back in a scramble with a hiss, his claws digging into his shoulders and sides. Peter yelped and Eddie, eyes wide, had to think fast - 

Throwing his leather jacket over Matt in a hurry, he shoved them both back toward their own brownstone, sharply muttering, “gogogogo” - leaving Peter to lope off like an ostrich with a hunchback; the great forked tail bobbing out behind him under the oversized leather jacket like a rhythmic gymnastic ribbon. 

Covering his face, Eddie stalked after the two of them, recalling at last just who and what it was they were dealing with here.

But it could’ve been so much worse.

**_But I got wise…_ **

They’d always been pretty open with one another - Peter had explained to Eddie in the beginning that restrictions made him leery, that he was the type to wiggle and squirm if held back from something. Eddie, for his part, simply said that as long as communication existed between them, all would be well - he just wanted Peter to be happy. Love between them had blossomed in the building of things, and he had no intention of tearing any of that down. On the contrary, all he wanted to do was secure and ensure that they’d be okay. No matter what, they would shelter one another.

So when Peter and he [and Matt] were laying on the couch together, watching some innocuous thing, their demon fed and the rain outside pattering soft and dreamlike against the glass, Eddie didn’t question the Look Peter gave him. Nor did he flinch at the soft brush of fingers against his face, the thumb he kissed, the palm he nosed. Matt had rolled over to rub his face against Peter’s neck, nipping at his earlobe in a way that made Peter giggle; giddy and scratchy. 

It did something odd to Eddie’s heart, to be sure, but a cool glance of twin gold discs deterred any actual dismay.  _ I have his best interests at heart, _ that gaze told him. _ And so do you. _

That’s how Matt had convinced Eddie to let him stay to begin with, after all. 

Peter’s happiness.

“Y’wanna go t’bed, Eddie?” Peter asked him softly. There was a puff of smoke as Matt released Peter’s ear, and a glowing tongue chased the curve of it, a controlled flame coaxed on by the rake of his mouth. Eyes wide, Eddie slowly shifted upright on the sofa, Peter whining a faint protest as the other man’s legs moved. Matt sat up as well, clawed hands pushing lightly on Peter’s side in order to do so.

“...Don’t that hurt?” Eddie asked quietly, glancing between Matt and Peter. The two exchanged a semi-look, expressions incredulous. Matt lifted his head first from the motion, lips quirking. Bemused.

“It does not,” the demon told him mildly, “I can show you.”

“That’s - that’s okay,” Eddie deflected awkwardly, face crawling with heat at the suggestion. “I um. I’d feel a little like the third wheel, okay? You - you two go...do whatever it is you wanna...do…” Peter frowned slightly, sitting upright at long last.

“You’re...not a third wheel, you know. You’re my husband, if you don’t -”

“What is ‘husband’?” Matt interjected politely. Eddie and Peter tore their gazes from one another to look back at Matt, baffled. A long tail swished and flicked, the demon settling back to clasp his ankles, expectantly turned their way. One ear twitched, and Matt bowed his head to the left, lips pursed. “...Hello?”

“Right,” Eddie said, inhaling sharply. “It’s - I asked Peter to marry me.”

“‘Marry’,” Matt repeated, nose scrunching.

“Yeah, marry,” Peter said enthusiastically, legs drawn up to his chest as he squished between the two of them on the couch, “like - he asked me to stay with him forever, right? He wanted to keep me. So he said - he got down on one knee and he offered me a ring and the whole shebang -”

“She-bang,” Matt muttered under his breath, face set in a look of concentrated consternation. Eddie had to bite back a smile in spite of himself, forever torn between amusement and terror when it came to the demon, in general. Sometimes, when Matt was thinking, a little halo of ghost-fires careened around his head. Eddie’d referred to it as “Hell’s loading wheel”, which somehow earned him an elbow from Peter in the process. But now, there was only Matt, thinking about something deeply as Peter rambled on.

“We had a ceremony inside an old barn at one of the job-sites we renovated. All our friends were there, and now - now we live together.” His eyes lifted to Eddie, and Peter’s voice, scratchy as it was, slowed to a rusty drawl, no less sincere - if anything, he forced himself to pump the brakes and make sure Eddie, in particular, heard him:

“Because we love each other.” Zealous green-hazels captured skeptical cobalt. With polished practice, the cynicism faded away under the dappled light. Peter’s expression glowed; enthused beyond compare as he emphasized, “ _ so,  _ so much.” 

“...so, so much,” Eddie murmured. Matt, contemplating this, slithered slowly off the sofa. Eddie thought, for a moment, he was going to rocket onto the ceiling and scamper away like he sometimes did when he was done with a conversation, but instead, he simply knelt beside the sofa, reaching out to take Peter’s hand in his own. 

“Can  _ I  _ keep you?” Matt asked gently. Peter snapped his gaze away from the demon to Eddie, suddenly stricken. Eddie hesitated, his heart sinking - but Matt reached out, and took one of his hands, too, the leathery pads of his fingers drawing all their hands close together. He bowed his horned head against their knuckles and waited. Coriander and cardamom careened through the air, wafting waves of warm spices. 

“...that’s right,” Peter whispered weakly, “it’s - that’s...that was a week, wasn’t it? The...days just...flew by…”

“Did he just quote  _ Casper? _ ” Eddie inquired dazedly - and felt Peter jostle him as he moved to fling himself off the couch, all but tackling Matt in a tight grasp, hugging him closer than close. Nuzzling into the fine fur of his face, Peter mumbled fiercely:

“Yesyesyesyes. Of  _ course  _ you can keep us!” His eyes ticked up to Eddie as he held fast to Matt as if grasping a lifeline. Matt’s fingers drifted free of Eddie’s own before both arms wrapped around Peter again, sighing with relief. A  _ safe  _ space, he noted to himself. This was what  _ safe  _ felt like. Peter was safe. Eddie was good. 

He would keep them, yes.

But - 

“What is a  _ Casper _ ?” Matt asked faintly, and Peter laughed through a wave of happy tears.

**_You’re the Devil in disguise._ **

In the end, Peter and Matt didn’t immediately galavant off to explore just how deep their bond was - yet, anyway. Eddie had been asked to make celebratory noodles [“noodles, Eddie!” Matt chirped intently, scaring the shit out of the man by manifesting in a perch on the counter by the sink], which he did - along with brownies and sandies; personal requests from Peter more than Matt - “you’re gonna  _ love  _ brownies, though, I can tell, man, you’re gonna have so much fun, a week was  _ definitely  _ not enough time to teach you all the good stuff in this world, but now we have as long as you want!” 

Peter’s happiness was hard to deny - and so was the way they went back to dancing behind Eddie as he cooked and baked, hand-in-hand, laughing up a storm. 

_ Oh yes you are, the Devil in disguise… _

And with how warm and sweet the kitchen became, Eddie had to wonder - despite all his uncertainties, his unease, and his worries…

Could Peter Quill, of all people, domesticate and humanize a demon? A thought that never would’ve crossed his mind a month ago, but - 

Without question, the answer was a firm and unfaltering  _ yes. _ And on that note [along with Peter crooning “ _ I thought that I was in hea-ven” _ as he spun Matt clean off the floor, the two of them levitating toward the ceiling out of the corner of his eye], Eddie had to assume...

Maybe this wasn’t such a tough situation after all.


	7. The Spice of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> mamma mia here we go again  
> it's a spicy meatball.  
> one day I'll write a useful summary note, but it ain't tonight.  
> this chapter is explicit though! so just as a head's up about *that*. Thanks for reading!

###  When it came to the tender loving care of maintaining the life of one’s demon, Peter Quill wasn’t really surprised to find how good at it he was.

Not that he was prideful, mind - if anything, Matt had taken the time to hold his hands and explain the ‘Pyramid of Sin’ to him, which wasn’t quite as terrifying as Peter thought it was going to be, but…

In his own way without audible words, Matt spoke to Peter. The closer they were, the less he seemed to need to use his voice. It was as if he just had to hold Peter, and the other understood him with absolute clarity.

_ Every man who walks the Earth,  _ Matt informed him, soft and fuzzy hands cradling Peter’s pale ones,  _ has a temple in his heart devoted to the sins of the flesh. It is the way they were made, we are told. All men give housing to the temptations of the Garden, for their betrayal is what built the walls. The bricks are laid differently. _

One claw extended to trace the base of Peter’s palm; the heel of his hand. He jolted with a snort and a giggle, and Matt patiently ‘glanced’ up from his fingers to his face, golden eyes dreamily drifting over whatever fiery countenance he could conceptualize out of the haze of flames. 

_ At the base of your temple is the sin of Lust, _ Matt explained - and Peter’s face went redder than strawberries in the Summertime. Matt smiled cunningly at that, his nail racing back and forth across the ticking pulse he could feel tapping away [increasing by the second] beneath the digit.  _ That is the easiest way evil can find its way in. You have a doorway in your body through which that fire can enter… _ dipping his head down, Matt pressed a searing kiss to Peter’s palm, then over the heel, down to his wrist. At the delta of veins, Matt all but drank, a tongue of blue-white light dragging heat over Peter’s skin. His mouth sagged open at the sight of Matt savoring his flesh, and Peter stammered out something incomprehensible as the demon drew back - but didn’t fully release him.

_ Then there is gluttony. _ Matt trailed his finger higher over Peter’s hand, a shorter line this time.  _ You have been hungry too often in your life to contend with this Sin. You are a glutton for affection, for nourishment of body and soul alike. You were denied it, and now, you crave it - love. Food. Sex. Money. Then there is greed. _ An even shorter line, this time, above ‘gluttony’.  _ Hand-in-hand.  _ Matt’s eyes were sparkling as the nail skated anew.  _ Envy. You don’t like to be left out of equations. You want what others have.  _

His pinkie claw extended this time; a smaller scimitar of dark keratin scything across the soft flesh just over a line already on Peter’s palm. He winced instinctively, though the talon didn’t cut. The touch stayed featherlight; almost-practiced. Matt purred under his breath, eyes half-lidded.

_ Sloth,  _ he explained silently,  _ your inaction to move on certain things, drag or stomp your feet. Childlike… _ the tiniest flick of a finger raised over that, and Matt nodded, seemingly to himself.  _ Pride,  _ he noted.  _ You want to have it. But you lack it. Though your name matters most to you. As do your interests, and at last... _

Peter giggled as Matt’s smallest claw tickled just under where his fingers met the rest of his hand. Matt smiled lopsidedly. 

_ Wrath,  _ he acknowledged patiently,  _ the least of your Sins. You are not one to anger easily - but like all temples of the flesh, this Sin, too, takes shelter in your heart upon occasion. Most recently when that man in Central Park shouted obscenities at you and Eddie. _

Peter - whose eyes had begun to drift shut at the warmth and tenderness of Matt’s gestures - snapped to attention, brows furrowing.

“...how do you know about that?” he asked warily. “Did Eddie tell you?” Matt had granted him a beguiling glimmer of golden eyes, a cock of his head, and a swish of his tail that lightly swatted aside his worries and cares. Everything was  _ fine. _

“Know things sometimes, Pe-ter,” the demon informed him softly, “just happens. I touch, and I know…” his leathery pads drifted over Peter’s more malleable skin, the palm of his hand a little slick from the attention. Peter swallowed and nodded, throat bobbing.

“O-okay, well. That’s definitely...good to know, Matt. thanks for the info…”

“There is more,” Matt said, and patiently extended his hands to Peter once again. The rain battered the windows of the living room; and Eddie had fallen asleep with his journal on his face on the sofa. The TV kept flickering as it lost signal from the storm. Peter glanced around at all of this with a little sigh - then settled his hands back near Matt’s yet again.

_ Each of these sins tastes different,  _ Matt said without words,  _ lust, for you, tastes like a crisp apple on a clear Autumn day, the first and sweetest and meatiest of the season, but... _ Matt’s nose crinkled, and Peter found himself leaning in as if to inspect the gesture, thoroughly enchanted.  _ But it comes with something else. Sweet. Sin -  _ Matt’s thoughts had an odd fizzle around them as he cocked his head, nose nearly brushing Peter’s own with how close they shared a proximity, now. Their knees touched as Peter scooted inward a bit to better ‘hear’ Matt, just earnestly examining his face. Matt could feel the hot huff of his breath ruffling his fur, one eye squinting a little from the air’s impact. 

“But you are different also,” Matt said aloud, brow furrowing. Peter’s grin blossomed across his face.  _ Different.  _ Didn’t sound  _ bad. _ Not the way Matt said it - almost admiringly; downright bemused. 

“Different how?” Peter crooned, swaying their hands together in the air. A waltz while they sat cross-legged on the living room floor, the storm outside lowing as if to echo the way Peter’s words dragged; just enough to sing-song. One of Matt’s ears twitched ever-so-slightly, and he turned his face away from Peter somewhat as if embarrassed.

“...Cinnamon-sugar,” Matt said aloud. Peter’s eyes rounded, and he sat up from his perpetual slouch a bit. Matt’s forked tongue darted between his lips, and the demon hunched his fluffy shoulders in a shrug. “You think about it sometimes, Pe-ter. With the crust.”

Racking his brain for answers, Peter quickly put the pieces together. “ _ Pie? _ ” Matt continued to stare at him blankly, so Peter just - laughed, trying to expand on it. 

“Apple pie, like - flaky pastry; hot from the oven, cinnamon-sugar sprinkled on top; juicy apple pieces...am I anywhere close?” Matt just granted him a blank expression, and Peter smiled faintly. “Look - never mind. Point is, can something that nice really be a Sin?” That seemed to perplex Matt the most, even though an answer swiftly came in response:

“...Yes? Sin is meant to be enjoyed, Pe-ter.”

“Then it must be a Sin to know you,” Peter quipped back playfully. Matt’s mouth pulled itself into a rueful half-smile, brows shifting together like tectonic plates disturbed by the rumbling mirth beneath them.

“...Well, yes.”

“Oh.”

“You have Sin tangled up with Not-Sin,” Matt decided aloud, still letting Peter hold and play with his hands. “It is...flavorful. Need it to eat,” he added, turning his face a little as he lifted Peter’s hands in his own - then gently nipped the edges of his fingers. It wasn’t hard, but it  _ was  _ enough to make Peter jolt with surprise, his hazel eyes widening anew. Matt followed up with a gnaw that did break the skin - “ow! Matty -” - before the rake of that tongue; now a hearthfire gold, sealed the injury shut.

Shocked by that beyond anything else, Peter pulled his hand away to turn it over a few times, agape. Matt sat patiently and waited, still holding onto Peter’s other set of fingers. “How did you…?”

“Trade secret,” Matt said - and grinned outright as he felt Peter whip back toward him in a waft of that orchard-crisp air, laughing lightly.

“Did you just - was that you making a joke?” Matt offered a modest shrug, and Peter snorted. “It  _ was. _ You’re full of surprises.”

“And noodles sometimes,” Matt pointed out. Peter laughed again, brighter still, and, freeing a hand, reached up to pull Matt in by the back of the head so he could kiss the front. His lips brushed a crown of rust and burgundy and brown, and Peter felt a rush of satisfaction from the way Matt immediately began to purr.

“And noodles sometimes,” he agreed, eyes drifting shut. He lingered in Matt’s scent, safe in the sanctuary of the spice he carried with him. 

“I feel like there’s still so much we don’t know about you,” Peter murmured against his brow. “But - I trusted you...instantly. And you can talk to me, just - in my mind.”

“You made me real, Peter,” Matt explained, shifting himself free of Peter’s hand to nuzzle up under his jaw instead. Hot breath tickled Peter’s neck, and he shivered slightly. “You feed me, in many ways. Freed and feed.” Matt took Peter’s scarred arm in his hand after a beat; turning it over so the forearm with its healing laceration and irritation faced the ceiling. Peter’s heart jumped to his throat as Matt pressed a kiss to the raised edges as if trying to whisper them back into submission beneath the rest of Peter’s skin.

“We are bonded,” Matt said simply, raising his mouth away at long last. “I can show you more. If you want.”

“H’yeah,” Peter whispered, but Matt was already smiling - as if he knew seconds before Peter did what his answer would be. “What, um…” he motioned to Eddie, still snoozing on the sofa behind them, with his head. “What’s his pyramid?” 

Matt, despite not seeing what movement had just occurred, knew exactly what Peter was asking. Lips pursing, Matt squinted slightly - twin infernos narrowed to mere candle-flames before widening again.

“Wrath first,” he said quietly. “Then envy. To see more, I would need to be closer. Would be taxing.” The word  _ taxing  _ flitted between his lips with a small ripple of cinders. Peter leaned in toward him again, utterly entranced. Matt cocked his head, then turned to rub his cheek against Peter’s, now that he was close enough. The cascade of spice blend shifted across Peter’s skin and he melted against Matt accordingly, nuzzling him right back. The thrumming started back up, and Peter smiled in abject contentment. 

“How come you smell so good?”

“Need to be appealing, Pe-ter,” Matt murmured, nipping his way along Peter’s cheek all the way to his ear. “Need…” he trailed off, seemingly at ease with just gnawing on soft cartilage. Peter grimaced, though it didn’t exactly hurt - it tickled, more than anything.

“Whaddya need, Matty?”

“Hungry,” Matt sighed, finally detaching from Peter’s ear. He drew back to nudge his nose to Peter’s own, almost-expectantly. Peter offered his demon a barrage of kisses, peppering his fuzzy little face with affection, and Matt scrunched his nose, eyes narrowing anew - the way a cat sunning itself might when completely satisfied.

“Well, why don’t we -” Peter kisses Matt’s nose, “ask Eddie for some noodles?” He kissed the corner of Matt’s mouth, but the demon turned with a serpent’s grace to instead ensnare Peter’s mouth, pressing in slow. Peter made a muffled sound of surprise that quickly morphed into a moan. A chasm of heat opened between them as Matt poured into Peter’s mouth - molten affection, the warm, tingling feeling of a forked tongue on fire chasing across his own. 

Peter was more than relieved that he was sitting down, because  _ shit,  _ he felt like Matt’s tongue just melted every defense his bones had against this kind of thing [which was zero to begin with anyhow]. One hand had to steady himself on the floor where he sat, regardless, while the other swept up to cradle Matt’s face. The demon drew back, then dove again, sucking softly; finding the places in Peter’s mouth that made him go from enamored to desperate in a matter of milliseconds. 

“Not noodles, Pe-ter,” Matt whispered, so close to Peter’s mouth still that it felt like he himself said it at first, rather than the demon. 

“Oh?” Peter asked, and Matt’s dark brows rose; amused. “ _ Oh, _ ” came the sound of understanding, followed by a trailing version in, “ohhhh” form as Peter swung slowly around from Matt to look at Eddie on the couch.

His heart twisted a little, but - the rest of him knew what it wanted. And heck, his heart did, too, even if he felt - not strange admitting it, no, more...right. It felt right. And that was maybe what made it a little bit weird. That he’d wanted Matt from the minute they ‘met’, more or less, in the kitchen, officially. When he’d summoned Matt, somehow, and they’d woven together for a while before coming apart in dreams. In pleasure. Had those been real, too? Peter’s mind raced back to the second night, his begging heat between his fingers, caught in the ecstasy of the afterglow that  _ literally glowed,  _ warm as a jack-o-lantern on Halloween night. How he’d tasted mulling spices on his tongue when he woke, and, still ravenous, had rolled over to fuck into his hand to try and stave off another wave of desire. 

He felt it now; drunk on it, a little - the lust that built from the door he supposed he’d opened, or however Matt put it. The...base of his temple, but hell, all he could think of was the tingle at the base of his spine, or the one that trailed down his arms; his legs, every nerve ending singing like sweet violins. Glassy-eyed, he glanced back from Eddie to Matt, and, noting the earnest expression - so in suspense, yet somehow  _ knowing  _ \- nodded. Peter nodded, and Matt smiled  _ wide. _ Every pointed tooth showed in a magnificent flash of cattish satisfaction. 

“Just gonna - gonna let him know,” Peter said, and, on wobbly legs, got to his feet. Matt rose likewise, though more easily than Peter, padding off to wait by the bedroom door as if it was the most natural thing in the universe.

One of Peter’s hands lowered to brush Eddie’s head, and he started at once, a light sleeper at best, fumbling to hold Peter’s hand and dislodge his journal, groggily peering up at his husband hovering overhead.

“Eddie, baby?” Peter stooped a little to crouch by the couch, kissing Eddie’s knuckles and studying him. Sleepy blue eyes blinked and Eddie nodded, rubbing an eye. “Hey,” Peter fidgeted with his fingers for a second, then furrowed his brow. How did one ask this? It wasn’t - he hadn’t in a while - he was out of practice. “Matt’s...I mean - would you be cool if he and I…” he trailed off, then: “ _ you know, _ ” he implied, wiggling his hips for emphasis.

Eddie, still half-asleep, just stared at Peter for a second or two - then swiveled slightly on the couch, clutching Peter’s hand. Matt twiddled a few fingers, slouched against the door frame, his tail flicking around him like a bright red arrow of light saying  _ sex here! _ In some scarlet district of a foreign city.

“...huh,” Eddie said, with all the diplomacy of a golf commentator, “you gonna drag his soul to Hell for all eternity if you two... _ you know? _ ”

“ _ Eddie, _ ” Peter protested, squeezing his hand. Matt stroked his chin with a couple of claws as if considering it, but shook his head.

“No, Ed-die. Not at this time or any other.” Peter felt Eddie’s hand leave his own, and Eddie shrugged, sitting up slightly against the couch cushions. Butterflies in his stomach, Peter waited - crossing his arms, uncrossing them, putting his hands in his pockets, then behind his head, when - 

“Okay.”

“Okay?” He echoed Eddie, bewildered.

“I trust you,” Eddie said, peering up at Peter. “If this...would make you happy, um. Go for it, you - have my blessing, or...whatever. Technically you guys have kinda...it’s a whole thing, right? The...bond you have…” Peter, eyes flickering over Eddie’s face, tried to gauge how he was feeling. Eddie had a way of hiding behind a ‘professional mask’ upon occasion -  _ client-facing mode, _ he called it, or something - and in a way, Peter could see that come up in his eyes. Gates closing. Doors locking. He didn’t want that.

“If you’re not sure -”

“I am.”

“This...doesn’t mean I want you less. We’re married.” His fingers lifted to brush Eddie’s cheek, and, after a stubborn and reluctant pause, Eddie pressed his face closer to Peter’s hand. “Nothing changes that,” Peter finished quietly - and leaned down to kiss Eddie’s forehead.

“I know,” his partner mumbled, embarrassed. “I just...it takes some getting used to, I guess.”

“I get that,” Peter murmured, always one to rush headlong into spontaneity and possibility. He never pumped the brakes - and, in contrast, Eddie almost never seemed to take his foot off them. They weren’t a stop-start despite this, though. They were a constant.

“You can come too, if you like, Ed-die,” Matt interjected mildly. Eddie’s eyes flew widely open and Peter, too, looked at Matt like an enthused deer in the headlights.

“...n...no, Matt, I think I’m just gonna...go out for a few errands…” Eddie slid off the couch and stretched, leaning in to kiss Peter on the cheek; lingering. “I’ll be back, just - in a while, okay?”

“You sure it’s okay?” Peter asked again, and Eddie smiled faintly, cupping his handsome face between his hands.

“I’m sure,” he said firmly, and glanced back at Matt [who had his brow furrowed in confusion, tail still darting in the air] once more. “Be good to him, please,” Eddie muttered - and, walking off to get his boots, coat, and keys, headed out into the rain.

And then it was the two of them - the demon and his summoner, standing adjacent a few feet apart in a brownstone in Brooklyn. Lamplike eyes glowed in a face of rust and shadow, and Matt, lifting his chin, crooked a couple of clawed fingers at Peter in a come-hither fashion. 

He was just about to start toward him when instead, Peter felt himself pulled as if by an invisible thread, shooting across the floor; skidding smoothly with a squeak before crashing gently into Matt. The demon grinned up at him, and, without ado, rose on his toes to kiss Peter again, tail twining around his thigh to pull him closer. Nose bumped nose as they stepped over the threshold and into the bedroom together. Peter heard the door slam shut as they tumbled onto the bed, Matt beneath him for a moment, desperate passion caught between them.

It was the turn of an ignition; the spark that lit a fuse. Dynamite gunpowder fizzed down his spine as Peter ground against the demon draped over his bed. He felt the sinuous tail snake across his legs; his lap, and across his belt - then under his shirt in a wave of warmth that tickled his back and sent a shiver careening across it. Peter broke from kissing Matt -  _ he tastes like apple cider, like - like everything sweet in the Fall _ \- to nip and smooch his way over the column of his throat. Purring profusely, Matt tilted his chin back to give Peter better access, clawed fingers gliding up through his tawny hair to ruffle and fluff it, scratching his scalp.

It wasn’t until that moment that Peter felt it - the rush of pre; desire seeping between his legs, sticky and urgent, but besides that, the driving, incessant force of his own lust, coiling in his stomach, coasting across his body. His form sang for it, length hard against Matt’s thigh, and the demon grinned - that knowing grin accompanied by eyes that shone with  _ triumph,  _ but also - 

With affection. Matt sank his teeth softly into Peter’s collarbone and his tongue dragged after his fangs, folding adoration into every stroke. One taloned hand dropped to drag Peter’s sweatpants off, tossing them away. They kissed again, and Peter felt his shirt leave, too, wriggling a little to assist its departure. It felt as natural as breathing, falling into Matt’s fiery embrace. He hadn’t even asked to shift back to human form, or anything, it was just - 

This was it. Peter had always been the adventurous sort, and this was the adventure of a thousand lifetimes, but more importantly - 

Matt showed him their bond, their connection, their...unholy covenant, or something, but it couldn’t have possibly been a bad thing. He spoke of Sins, but this felt more like a - a wish granted he didn’t even realize he was making. Eddie was enough, but this was - more, it was a different kind of need. A connection that he’d made without meaning to. Fulfilment of a new kind. 

They twisted, and suddenly, Peter was on his back on the bed, watching Matt from above as the demon rolled back his shoulders; clawed fingers traipsing across Peter’s bared chest. Shivering as a pec was clasped, Peter arched into the touch - then gasped outright, a frantic “oh _ fuck _ ” following the movement of Matt’s tail, wrapped around his length, pulling slowly. The demon’s smirk hooked crookedly left, and Matt drew Peter’s leg up over his shoulder with a free hand, head tilting toward his calf, his knee, kissing as he moved along. Flushed and scrambling, Peter twisted a hand against the pillows behind himself briefly - then reached up to curl both hands through Matt’s hair, kneading encouragement. His leg slipped, foot rubbing just above the bump that was Matt’s tail, pressing against his lower back. The demon  _ growled,  _ a deep, resonant contentment, flexing forward to nip at Peter’s thigh with a grazing of canines. Peter  _ whined,  _ a smile breaking out across his face so bright and sudden it almost lit the room up more than Matt’s gaze did, punctuated by pants of:

“ _ Yes,  _ baby - oh my god, just - just like that, m-more of that, please…”

“Noisy,” Matt said, with no shortage of admiration - and licked a stripe slowly up Peter’s thigh to follow the nibble. Peter moaned, hips hitching, desperate for friction, and Matt turned his face to do the same to his cock, forked tongue driving a line of fire under the yearning appendage. He minded his teeth as he sampled the source of Peter’s lust, swallowing easily - just one quick stroke of his mouth - and heard the human howl beneath him, a breathless, strangled sound.

In the darkest corners of his conflagrating cosmos, Matt had never heard anything quite so beautiful.

He tasted sweet as ever, the human - his Peter - did. In waves, now, the scent of pleasure was caramelizing, wafting through the air as if to tempt  _ him,  _ rather than vice-versa. Matt felt  _ warm  _ with Peter, in a way that didn’t burn, but rather, swaddled him. Comforted him. He could’ve sat for hours on the living room floor with him if he hadn’t gotten so hungry. As it was, he now wanted to spend hours gorging himself on the lust; the gluttony, the greed of his flesh - taking bites out of his emotions and letting them run bloody over his tongue. Matt’s mouth fell open again, and sloppy, openmouthed kisses across Peter’s abdomen followed. His other hand drew Peter’s remaining leg over his shoulders, too, and Matt slid a hand down to prepare himself; running his tongue across his palm in the process.

“Healing,” he explained coyly, to Peter’s confused breath in the midst of flickering gasps. “Open for me. Relax for me.” Hypnosis layered into the words, light and sweet. Honeyed. He felt Peter unwind with a faint  _ mew,  _ a little sound that brought a chuckle to his lips. Healing, yes. Protection, too, in its own way. He was a conjurer of many tricks, some easier than others - Peter wasn’t wrong in surmising there was still so much to learn about Matt. Moreover, Matt himself didn’t know...everything. In many ways, servants of Hell were kept in the dark for a myriad of reasons. But pleasure was something he knew how to give. 

Because Matt knew everything about the man who’d summoned him. It sank into him slowly; fact after fact, but he knew, despite his size, how Peter preferred to be dominated. He knew if he coated himself in shimmering heat and good scents, Peter would be pulled in toward him; helplessly unraveling. Matt knew if he worked his magic, wrapped his length in a wavering light of containment - 

Peter drove himself lazily up to meet Matt as the demon shifted against him, and all schemes and thoughts left Matt’s head at once. Peter’s hands were around his horns for leverage, body pressed up; knees trembling, and Matt’s lips parted in a silent breath of shock.

It had  _ never  _ felt like this before, not like he could remember. He hadn’t been...corporeal for this kind of thing; the carnal need, the writhing fire. He felt Peter open and close around him, clutching him in ways he hadn’t experienced with such...intensity before. His claws raked across Peter’s lower back, dragging him in, and Peter sagged back against the bed as Matt began to rock, overwhelmed by the intensity. The depth. The pleasure.

Where demon and man ended or began, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he was  _ feeling it,  _ everything Peter was feeling, in the all-consuming  _ rush  _ of sparks that shot through his system. It was water to a man dying of thirst, it was the thaw of Spring. Flowers pressing their way up through the soil. Down below, he could hear them growing, their own sense of urgency thrusting them up through the ground. It was the burst of persimmon or pomegranate, the wet, desirous crush of fruit that damned those yet to die. It was the scent of herb and grass and the forest being crunched and filling the air in the early morning. It was the…

Which of these were his memories? Which were Peter’s? Matt didn’t know. He could only taste that sweet thing, that  _ cinnamon-sugar-apple-pie-crust-flakeflakeflake _ on his tongue - the tongue that lapped in earnest across Peter’s neck and jaw. One hand clutched at his chest, kneading furiously with the tick of his hips, and Matt felt the room fill up with flame around them. 

Peter, in heaven below him, did his best to keep up with the kindling between them. The bonfire blazed, under his skin and all around them. The room was awash with it, the gold-orange glow of their power - and it  _ was  _ theirs, Peter recognized, his hands dragging across Matt’s chest as he pushed against him, the pounding of his heart matching the pounding of Matt moving toward his core. 

And when that volcano burst, when their plates shifted, when the earth cracked - Peter’s sounds escaped him in a rush of smoke, all the ecstasy burning out of him in a blaze of glory. Matt seemed to take all the noise instead, an unearthly, guttural  _ roar  _ that rattled the bed beneath them. The room lit up like an inferno, and overhead, the bulbs in the ceiling fan burst, scattering to opposite ends of the room. But it didn’t matter. None of it mattered, not even the fact they were floating a foot or so above the bed to begin with, nothing to hold onto - neither of them had noticed, till Peter felt the sweat of his back touch the cool sea of sheets.

Matt shuddered, hips still pumping, the heat between them an entanglement of understanding unspoken. In a daze, they lay intertwined, the scent of cloying caramel and sizzling coriander caught in the air they shared.

A messy breath later, and they kissed with silent exchange, Peter rattled with joy, Matt scrambled with a sunny side of crooked smiles.

_ You okay? _

_ I am okay, Peter.  _ Matt nibbled his bottom lip, feeling lazy and, indeed, well-fed.

_ We are okay together. _


	8. Fire, Oil, and Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how could you betray your feral little man this way  
> aka domestic bliss in the form of: showing a demon he can be safe in a bath.

###  More than okay, as it turned out.

Matt fell into their lives like a gentle rain, or rose up around them with the curious intensity of a flame well-tended. One of his primary favorite pastimes seemed to be falling asleep at any hour of the day, sprawled wherever he felt like it - most frequently atop Peter, his tail swishing through the air, trailing cinders - or appearing abruptly beside Eddie as he cooked, 9/10 times startling the man into dropping something, jolting, or swearing.

Matt liked a lot of what the human world had to offer. Most consistently, in the first few days, he’d discovered he liked the way Peter’s hand found a place just above his tail that sent his feet into a flurry of happy kicks; his head lolling back against the man’s shoulder. He liked the sounds of their music; the scratchy record always sounding a little bit like a singer in the room, breath unwinding under the spool of the very-sharp needle. He’d pressed a finger to it to test its strength and found himself pricked for his efforts - but a quick lick and the wound sealed. An odd gift his maker had given him, for whatever reason - but he took it. 

He bathed Peter’s bruises away with kisses of a similar nature - so often he wound up injuring himself doing little tasks to fix things; leading to a chain of unusual swear combinations. And Peter cooed over him with pride whenever he performed those little tricks. Matt decided he liked that, too.

He  _ loved  _ noodles, Matt decided. There was something about the different kinds Eddie knew how to make -  _ pad thai, chow mein, spaghetti, tteok-bokki _ \- that appealed to Matt. Slippery-good-spicy-sweet noodles, a million little textures with veggies and meat and the sauces that simmered on his forked tongue long after he’d finished his meal for the night. Gratitude in the form of his cheek rubbing against Eddie’s own was often met with an uneasy human who tasted like citrus and uncertainty. 

Peter had adjusted much more readily to their new lifestyle - the couple had taken an impromptu week-long break, though work was still ramping up for the final renovations of the season before November came. After that, it was on a weather-by-weather basis, and they had to prepare for the inevitability of snowstorms.

“What is...snow?” Matt had asked Peter, curled up on the back of the sofa like a panther in a domestic enclosure. Peter, laying beneath him on the couch, lifted a hand to gently rub through Matt’s dark hair, ruffling behind his ears. Golden eyes half-closed in contentment, and the purring started up in earnest.

“It’s...really cold, and it can be soft or heavy, depending,” Peter explained lightly, “it falls from the sky. Similar to rain. You’ve felt rain before, right? Or - heard it, the day we -” His face flooded with muddy color and Peter cleared his throat. “ _ You know, _ ” he muttered. Matt’s lashes fluttered, and he stretched his hands with lazy grace, rolling neatly off the back of the couch and onto Peter instead. “Oof!”

“Yes,” Matt chirruped quietly, butting his head under Peter’s chin to snuggle into the sweet-sweat of his neck, “the day all the lightbulbs broke.” His smile was cunning and sharp against Peter’s skin.

“An expensive day,” Eddie muttered from his desk, still scratching away at blueprints. Matt’s ears pricked up at that, and the demon lifted his head --

Before manifesting, perched like a gargoyle, atop Eddie’s desk. The man jumped as expected, knocking his coffee back toward himself. A few drops scattered and spilled, but he protected the blueprints - as much as he could, anyway, with them now lodged firmly under Matt’s leathery soles.

“You can’t keep doing that,” Eddie grumbled, nudging at Matt’s elbow so he could reach past him for a couple of tissues, “one of these days my soul is just gonna shoot right outta my body.”

“Well, yes, that is how it works,” Matt said - then hesitated. Something about that didn’t sit right with him, and he couldn’t figure it out. Eddie scoffed under his breath as Matt hovered close to him, listening to the scrape of the writing utensil on the paper. His head canted to one side, listening. After a breath or two, making no further attempt to move Matt off his desk, Eddie muttered,

“What about you? Do demons last forever?” 

“And ever,” Matt confirmed, brow still knitted. His nails flexed, then retracted, and, with another shift of time and space that swirled with a ripple of iridescent fire [“pretty,” Peter whispered from the couch] - slower this time, Matt manifested on the back of Eddie’s chair instead, clutching firm. His head dipped down and his nose caught behind Eddie’s ear, nuzzling softly. He could feel the heat rise up under Eddie’s skin; a blush forming following the motion, and Matt smiled a little to himself. 

Had things gone differently, perhaps Eddie would’ve been an easier target - a tally on the walls of Hell, a soul taken to temptation away from his faith. But - 

Matt didn’t like that. Didn’t want that. What he liked, instead, was the way Peter kissed and fussed over his fur, or the way Eddie spooned him some food to try from time to time while he was cooking, if he didn’t scare him quite so badly. He preferred the gentler things - the mortal things, he realized.

He’d just never had a choice to experience them before. 

It had always been work. 

Before anything else could cross his mind in regards to the fleeting lives of humans and the duties of demons, Eddie’s hand interrupted his thoughts by scratching under his chin in just the right spot. Matt’s eyes rolled back and his precarious perch on the chair began to slip, talons loosening on leather - before he slithered down against Eddie’s neck with a  _ plunk  _ of movement, ragged purring kicking back up once more. Eddie, now squashed between his desk and the demon at his back, sighed deeply.

“How the fuck am I ever supposed t’get work done with you two?”

“Whadido?” Peter innocently said from the sofa, “I am merely laying here. I am minding my own business.” Eddie made a face at Peter, and Peter grinned - lifting his phone to snap a photo of his husband and Matt. 

“Don’t you post that anywhere,” Eddie warned, scowling. Matt, having heard the little whir and click of a nonexistent shutter, sat back up with a blink, slithering off the chair shortly thereafter. He hopped up onto the couch to return to his throne on Peter’s chest, curling into a little ball that shouldn’t have been possible for a man - demon - of his size. 

“Nobody would believe us anyway,” Peter scoffed, then paused, mulling something over.

“Don’t,” Eddie warned again, tossing down his pen and swiveling to face Peter a little more. “That’s - I know that look. Don’t you do it, Peter Quill.”

“I’m  _ literally  _ not even doing anything,” Peter protested, hands up - even as his thumb pressed the big button to post something to Instagram.

“You ain’t slick,” Eddie said dryly, jaw clenching. Peter grinned, waggling both brows, and shook his head.

“Relax. It’s my personal and I don’t even know how hashtags work, so I didn’t use any.”

“What wording did you use?”

“‘Hanging out with the baes! Two weeks to Halloween! Xoxo’. Why are you making that face at me?” Peter pouted, lips pressing together into a thin line. Eddie kept his expression of careful disapproval in place, and Peter finally broke away from staring with a whine, head flopping back against the pillows. “Fiiine, I’ll delete it, you never let me have any fun…”

“No, it’s fine,” Eddie drawled, hands lifting as he swung back to his work, “by all means, please, expose your demon lover to the world and see what happens. I can’t be responsible for your impulse control. Or lack thereof.”

“You love my lack of impulse control,” Peter said lightly, arms weaving back around Matt, the phone and the picture already forgotten. The demon had begun to doze off again, his face pressed beneath Peter’s jaw. “Besides, he’s just so cute. How can we not share him with the world?”

“We might have to anyway, soon enough,” Eddie muttered, flipping between two of the blueprints and turning one on his desk. Peter glanced back his way after gazing into Matt’s dozy expression. 

“Whaddya mean, Eddie?”

“I mean we can’t stay here on vacation forever. The Murdock House ain’t done being assessed, and the 509 brownstone in Manhattan isn’t going to remodel itself with historical accuracy.” Eddie caught Peter’s stare and motioned with his head toward Matt. “He’s gonna have to come with us. Mostly because the idea of him staying here and accidentally setting the place on fire isn’t appealing to me.” 

“Can put fires out too, Ed-die,” Matt mumbled into the crook of Peter’s shoulder drowsily. Eddie huffed, sagging slightly in his seat. 

“And that’s great, Ginger Snaps, but my point is - we have to do something to make revenue to keep you and us - fed. And sheltered.” Peter grimaced a little. Eddie always got so serious about that kinda thing, but - Peter supposed he couldn’t really blame him.

“Can put on the human face for the occasion,” Matt offered, and, with a languid stretch, unfurled from Peter, sitting upright beside him with almost-ballet grace, hands stretching and feet following suit. Nude as he usually was during these kinds of transformations, Matt smiled faintly across the way in Eddie’s general direction. Peter smiled crookedly, one hand lifting to brush over the freckles on Matt’s back. With a  _ mrrp? _ of surprise, the demon shifted slightly in place, a golden flicker in his eyes again, and Peter grinned outright. 

“You’re so cute. Cutest boy alive.”

“And I’m chopped liver,” Eddie groused under his breath. Peter glanced his way again and sighed.

“Well come over here so I can dote on you, too.”

“I’m  _ working, _ ” the grouch responded, and Peter puffed out his cheeks mockingly, head swinging from side to side. Matt chuckled, apparently in on the joke, and ran his hands up through his own dark hair, tousling it out of his face somewhat. Peter’s fingers followed, catching one of Matt’s hands to cradle against his face. The fingertips were still a little tough; he realized - not enough to be noticeable, but coarse and strong. Gripping without force behind them. In the light, his eyes still looked slightly sparkly; full of flame - then, with a tilt of his head, the angle changed, and the infernal glow dissipated somewhat. They were still honeyed, his eyes - in a way that promised sweetness if sought out. And behind him, in the dim gleam of the dying day, his shadow on the wall…

Well, that stayed the same - horned, wavering, a tail flickering every so often. Peter’s eyes rounded with excitement. The little details - how had he missed them before? Oh, right - 

It was hard to look away from that handsome, good face.

“Cutie,” Peter confirmed, hands sliding down to cup Matt’s features, framing them with his fingers. Little rubs on the back of his neck produced more of that serotonin-inducing sound - the deep thrum that radiated through his bones and made him feel...strangely safe, he supposed. 

Matt, too, he hoped, felt safe in his hands.

“Okay,” Peter said gently, “I think we can go back to work tomorrow. Matt, you’ll come with us, like this - clothed, though, sorry,” Peter winced at the eye that cracked open; even if it couldn’t see him - the accusatory wryness was somehow not lost on him. “We can set up the truck to have like. A bed in the back, maybe. Like when you and I stargaze - oh, we can take you - well, you can listen to me rattle off star facts and have marshmallows and stuff -”

“Peter,” Eddie interjected - gently, however. 

“Right,” Peter exhaled, breath ruffling Matt’s dark hair, and smiled faintly. His thumb stroked across the demon’s freckly cheek. Matt’s tongue drifted across his palm and Peter giggled in spite of himself, the demon following up by nuzzling into the way the human held his face. “Maybe we can - I dunno, get you ready. Make it a whole thing. You could have a bath, or a shower, or --”

“Bath?” Matt asked, pulling his head back to rest his chin in Peter’s palm instead. 

“Yeah, bath, like - like I take sometimes. We can put in some salts, or - or bubbles, something nice…” Part of him was curious - just how feline  _ was  _ their little demon? Peter sat up reluctantly on the sofa and scooted his legs free of Matt, swinging his feet down toward the floor. “Ah man.” One leg, half-asleep, tingled profusely, and Peter kneaded the feeling away before going fully upright. One hand outstretched, fingers wiggling, and Matt took it in his own - with a ripple of some kind of energy, he shifted back to his true self in the process. 

“There’s my handsome boy!” Peter exclaimed, and Matt  _ beamed,  _ all pointy teeth and a fluorescent flourish of brilliant eyes. Kissing his forehead between the horns, Peter swung their arms and tugged Matt off toward the washroom - another impulsive decision, he knew, but how could he resist? It was  _ exciting. _ It was seeing someone he cared about experience things for the first time.  _ Nice  _ things, he might add - because Matt, though he’d not said anything, spoke volumes in his silence about where he’d come from.

[“Doesn’t matter,” he’d told Peter flatly, “here now. This counts more.”]

“You comin’, Eddie?” One earbud left his ear as Eddie glanced up from what little work he’d managed to get done - and, with a sigh he didn’t really mean, the broad-shouldered man lumbered upright as well, pushing away from his desk.

“Gotta make sure you two don’t blow the plumbing, I s’pose.”

“Always so responsible,” Peter grinned, and fell in to kiss Eddie when he got close enough, melting the scowl into a smile beneath the warmth of his embrace.

The warm embrace of the bath, however, apparently left something to be desired.

They’d tried a few different tactics. It wasn’t as though Matt smelled bad, or anything - on the contrary, he  _ always  _ smelled nice, or at least, like spice [“sugar and spice and everything nice,” Peter had crowed upon more than one occasion thus far] - and he’d been told he didn’t have to have the bath. But he seemed interested.

“If Pe-ter likes it,” Matt said, “I will like it.”

When they’d reached the bathroom, Matt had clambered up into the clawfoot bathtub and slipped in with ease, though once inside, he seemed a little unamused by the fact that the sides were so slippery. Peter had petted his head, however, and let him know he would be close by - before turning the spigot to send water rushing into the tub.

With an  _ explosive  _ flurry of rusty fur and noises only something from Hell itself could make, the demon had shot free of the confines of the tub and scrambled up onto Peter for purchase. His claws sunk into the other man’s back, tail wrapped around his chest nearly twice, and, spitting with furious dismay, Matt huddled on Peter’s shoulders, eyes like twin suns. 

“...O...ow, okay, o-kay, ow,” Peter gently chanted, reaching up to begin detaching the little claws as best he could from his person. Eddie, eyes round and hands up - unable to do much for how fast the exit stage left had been - mouthed  _ ‘you good?’  _ to Peter - getting back a face and a  _ ‘eh, so-so _ ’ motion with a hand. Completing his thought by completing his gesture, Eddie gingerly began to help extract Matt from Peter. 

“It’s alright, it’s alright, you’re okay…” Eddie drew the demon away and found himself instead latched onto next - Matt burrowing against his chest to hide. Blinking rapidly, Eddie folded his arms around the demon after a moment to cradle him close, and, exchanging a look with Peter, began to pace through the room while Peter checked himself over for injuries. “I gotcha, I gotcha, you’re okay, it’s just water, it’s fine, you’re fine…”

The mantra and the movement seemed to help. The tail Matt had tucked between them loosened and drifted around Eddie’s middle instead. The beating of the jackhammer heart in his fuzzy chest slowed somewhat, and Eddie rubbed his back, once more murmuring that Matt  _ didn’t have to do this if he didn’t want to. _

“But you’re safe, and Pete’s right here with ya.”

“Ed-die also?” Matt asked faintly from somewhere around the crook of Eddie’s shoulder.

Whatever walls he’d built up about the demon entering their lives wavered at that impact - the hand on Matt’s back stilled a little, and, after a wary pause, Eddie pressed his lips to the top of Matt’s head, staring past him to the floor.

“Eddie also,” he acquiesced, and heard Peter quietly go  _ “aw” _ somewhere near the tub. “Not a word outta you, Quill,” Eddie mumbled, ears reddening. Peter grinned as he straightened up and away from the tub, beckoning with both hands to retrieve his boy back from Eddie.

“My apologies, Quill,” he teased back playfully - and Matt, finally detangling from Eddie [with a little brush of his forked tongue against Eddie’s cheek that sent a shiver down his spine], returned to Peter.

“How about I get in with you?” Peter asked. Matt perked up at that, tail lashing behind him before wrapping loosely around an ankle. There was a nod, and Peter mirrored the motion, already beginning to shimmy out of his dark t-shirt. “Alright. Good, good. Okay. I’ll get in, and you can when you’re ready, alright? We won’t do any bubbles or anything till next time…” Kicking his jeans off and slipping out of his boxers, Peter watched Eddie out of the corner of his eye. The man as if on autopilot was lighting a few of the candles on the shelves they’d built together - scents of cedar and sandalwood spilling through the air, lingering with the frightened brimstone scent of Matt’s displeasure. Little by little, that smell shifted and ebbed - back into the tangle of spices that spoke of some kitchen far away.

“I’ll go get dinner started, yeah?” Eddie flipped on the stereo and slipped the remote to it close to the tub. Peter, slipping into the steaming water, reached out to catch Eddie’s hand for a second, kissing his knuckles.

“Thanks, baby,” he whispered, and Eddie smiled a little, tilting in to kiss the top of Peter’s head.

“You got it, Stardust.” One hand gently ruffled Matt’s hair as Eddie ducked out of the room, kicking the door shut behind himself as careful as could be.

Matt, hovering in his little pocket of red-tinted darkness, hugged himself absently. Something in the moment felt different than usual. It felt...nice.

Eddie had let him in. Those walls had found a door. That much he knew. He knew also that he’d scratched Peter and would need to fix that, but moreover - he was...safe. He hadn’t been reprimanded or retaliated against for such a visceral reaction. In Hell they might’ve - 

No, that wasn’t...he didn’t need to think about that.

Not with Peter humming along to the song on the radio, nor the incense-like smells in the air lingering with his own. The apple-taste of Peter’s love; his lust, all baked together in the steam, helped too. 

Cautious, but optimistic, Matt approached the edge of the tub and dipped a couple of fingers in. The water’s heat rose, and the smells of spices intensified tenfold. Peter sighed, the sound such reverberating contentment it might as well have been reverence outright. Matt leaned in closer to the sound, pulled in by an invisible string. It tugged somewhere in his chest, pulled Peter and him closer together. 

After another pensive interlude, Matt took a breath and rose up over the lip of the tub, minding where the water was shallower - he could tell that much, through the negation that came when his powers encountered reflective surfaces; liquid. That sort of thing. But he knew where to settle, sinking down into the depths against Peter in the stillness and the warmth. It felt odd; weighted on his fur, but he fell against Peter tenderly nonetheless. Hot breath tickled his hair as Peter bent his head to kiss his brow again, this time staying. 

“There’s my sweet boy,” Peter crooned, and Matt melted in the bath, completely safe in something so new and precious it seemed fit to burst - a bubble of hope, fragile at best, but rising; rising, inside a demon’s breast.


	9. A Dash of Spice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Matt bond in a non-supernatural way; theoretically. Mostly. The rest remains to be seen.

###  They say when you open a door, something almost always finds its way in.

In this case, when Eddie Brock cracked the door to his heart by gathering Matt into his arms, the little demon nudged the door all the way open without delay. 

He’d been insatiable before in his hunger - more often than not, Eddie wound up waking to the soft voice imploring him, “ _ noodles,  _ Eddie” at half past two or three in the morning. At first, he’d made every effort to deny Matt’s requests - “Ginger Snaps, it’s too early for this shit” - but had found himself met with a howling, hissing inferno that straight up levitated off the bed in a ring of fire. 

**_“NOODLES, EDDIE.”_ **

And somehow, blessedly, Peter slept through all the raining cinders and the quiet, half-choked screams of his husband.  _ Go figure. _

But they were learning one another. Slowly yet surely, Eddie was starting to navigate the theory that the demon they harbored wasn’t such a menace. Maybe there was more good in Matt than he knew.

Perched on the counter behind Eddie, for example, his new fuzzy friend peered curiously over his shoulder while he cooked [as he did, every single time, end up getting up and stumbling sleepily downstairs to cook up some noodles for Matt], even if he couldn’t see. Matt’s tongue flicked into the ether every so often to taste the spices and the salts and sugars; little things that had him tilting his head to and fro, ruff on the back of his neck rising every so often as if with an anticipatory shiver.

Warily watching Matt out of the corner of one groggy eye, Eddie debated what to say. Small talk usually consisted of “don’t hover” or “keep your tail out of my food” but - 

“Whaddya like best?” he muttered, shaking the pain of tomatoes slowly cooking down in olive oil, salt, pepper, and garlic. Matt perked up at the address, little claws clicking as he slunk closer across the counters, balancing precariously on the thin lip of the sink before settling to sit - almost normal - atop the counter closest to Eddie and the stove. 

“Peter,” Matt answered after a moment. “And you.” Eddie felt a flush crawl down the back of his neck, and, huffing faintly, jiggled the pain again, tomatoes hissing in the confines of the skillet. 

“That’s - really sweet, but uh. I meant in terms of noodles.”

“Oh.” Matt thought that over, sightless golden eyes shifting around in the dark. Eddie hardly needed the little overhead stove light to cook with a pair of headlamps like that. The lanterns lingering beneath a fringe of dark hair drifted back his way, and Matt smiled a little to himself. “Your noodles, Eddie. Not take-out.”

Giving up on getting a definitive answer, Eddie sighed. 

“You’re all about the flattery, huh, pal.” 

“Not flattery, Eddie,” Matt commented by his elbow on the side opposite where he’d been moments before. Eddie jumped almost clear off the ground as Matt grinned at him. It was only then he noticed how close in height they were - the same. Somehow, between his odd poses and how tall Peter was, comparatively, Eddie had somehow assumed the demon was smaller. Not the case, as it turned out. They nearly brushed noses as Eddie swung around to look at Matt - devious delight caught under every pointy tooth in his mouth.  _ Cat who got the canary. _

“You  _ really  _ need to stop doing that,” Eddie ordered, but - spooning a tomato out of the skillet after setting it aside, offered it to Matt. Instead of taking the utensil for himself, Matt simply leaned forward to engulf the steaming fruit, eyes fluttering shut as the food found his tongue. Brow furrowing, the demon mouthed and chewed, little noisy  _ nyeh nyeh  _ sounds that almost made Eddie laugh. They were followed up by a sigh of world-weary contentment as Matt tipped forward to rub his horned head against Eddie’s shoulder, appreciative, growly purrs bubbling up with each fond nuzzle.

“The crowd goes wild,” Eddie muttered, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. One hand lifted to gently tug Matt’s ear, and the demon  _ mrrp _ ed before lifting his head out of Eddie’s shoulder, blinking roundly. “Doesn’t need anything else?” Matt hesitated, tongue running across his bottom lip, and Eddie quirked a brow. “Oh? You got something, sous chef?”

“Paprika,” Matt said mildly, with a clarity that startled Eddie on a different level than the usual. Considering the option, Eddie started to reach for the spice cabinet - but Matt was already stretching out his hand toward the pan still sizzling softly atop the stove.

“Matt, what’re you - Matt!” Sure, he might’ve been a creature of fire and brimstone, but that didn’t mean Eddie always recalled that. Matt tapped each of the tomatoes in their stewing juices with a finger, then glanced up at Eddie - and, taking the spoon from his hand, scooped up a tomato just as he had - offering it to him with a knowing nod. 

“Trust, Ed-die.” The little clip to his voice was back, the verbal effort waning. He’d be better once he ate, Eddie’d noted - he became that much more verbose, poetic, even - that melodic voice lending itself to a myriad of funny old things to say. But sometimes he needed...fuel in the tank to function better. Made about as much sense as anything else, Eddie figured.

It was why he acquiesced to Matt’s little request - tipping forward to slurp the tomato off the spoon. Matt’s eyes crinkled with mischief and good humor as Eddie rocked back on his heels, brow furrowing. “Mm.”

After a moment, a more enthusiastic “ _ mm! _ ” followed, and Eddie’s gaze shot back to Matt; incredulous. “How in the world did you do that?”

“Magic, Ed-die,” Matt explained politely, as if Eddie’d forgotten. Rolling his eyes, Eddie cupped his hand over his mouth to keep the tomato in, still trying to speak and chew simultaneously.

“No, I mean - “ he managed to swallow, hands wiped on his apron before finding Matt’s face; instinctive and warm. The demon went still beneath the unexpected touch, golden gaze curious. “Like...how’s it work? I still wanna know everything.”

“About me?” Matt asked, bemused. In the darkness, he could feel the lines of Eddie’s face shift. Something in the temperature changed; in the air flow around his features. Matt wondered what he looked like - he could ‘see’ Peter clearly; a handsome tall tree in the middle of a field of wheat, sweeter than honey and twice as indulgent - and he felt Peter whenever he was close, an embrace of sunshine. Gone were the days of hellfire that scalded. Here, in Peter’s presence, he was safe, but…

Eddie felt different. Not dangerous-different. Just...different. He was broader, sturdier. Less a tree prone to bend to the breeze but rather, a boulder. The thought drew a crooked smile to Matt’s face.  _ Stubborn. _ Still the hands cupped his cheeks and the demon thrummed a little note of satisfaction, tilting his head forward to better access Eddie’s palms. They smelled of sweat, and spices,  _ Peter,  _ leather, wood polish, paper, and ink. He breathed, deep and slow, almost missing Eddie’s response entirely.

“Yeah - well. I don’t really know you. I know you like noodles, that you enjoy Peter’s music, you’re quick to catch onto stuff - and get stuck other places...you have a little bit of an accent, though I’m not sure what it is, your feet twitch when you sleep sometimes, and…” He trailed off with a sigh. “Just - the stuff on the surface, I suppose. I...want you to feel welcome.” The hands on either side of Matt’s face shrugged, fanning away, before smoothing down his neck to clasp his shoulders instead. The firmness of those hands kept him, and Matt stilled more than he even had moments ago. It was the same feeling he’d had when Eddie gathered him up into his arms. A  _ safe  _ feeling. Much like Peter, just...different.

“Feed me,” Matt intoned at length, “and I will tell you things about me, Ed-die.” 

It was easy enough. Eddie finished making tonight’s type of noodles -  _ putanesca,  _ he called it - and took them and the demon to the living room. They ate in there, rather than muck up the kitchen further. The putanesca, now with a splash of paprika;  _ somehow,  _ tasted better and more filling than any he’d ever had, Eddie realized - and he did eat with Matt as often as possible. He didn’t want him to eat alone, after all - sometimes if too tired, Eddie found himself stumbling upstairs, sure. But this was preferred. Matt coiled up on the couch beside him, a rust-colored bundle of limbs and fuzz snacking; smacking away at his dish. Getting him to use utensils had been a trial, but now he...sometimes managed. On the better nights, when he wasn’t quite so ravenous. Just peckish.

Tonight, however, Matt seemed to be positively starving, noodles and sauce catching on his face as he gobbled everything up from the dish tipped against his features. Eddie watched and ate slowly; forever bemused by the demon’s delight in his cooking. Shaking his head, the more human of the two sighed deeply, setting his own bowl aside after a moment or so.

“I know you like me,” Matt said, finally lowering his bowl after a lull wherein he’d managed to all but clean his dish completely with his tongue. Eddie cocked a brow and propped his head against a hand, leaning on the arm of the couch. Matt’s eyes, twin flames in the darkness, crinkled at the corners. “I can feel it. Especially when we are close. You do not like that you like me. But you  _ do. _ ” It was almost sing-song, that last note, and Eddie felt a shiver rush down his spine in spite of himself. Like a jack-o-lantern’s fire, the eyes bore right through him - slow, spiraling gold, alluring. Luring him up the steps to a house full of sweets and secrets. 

A bit at a time, Eddie’s body careened back toward Matt, head lifting from his hand, form sliding upright from where he’d slouched against the couch’s side. Matt curled a finger knowingly, then another - pulling some invisible chord between them that sang with promise. 

“I can look into your heart, Ed-die. You were worried I would take Pe-ter from you. But I won’t. I will stay with you. You…” Matt’s eyes dropped to Eddie’s lips, his lap, then up again, amusement gleaming. “Desire me.” Despite how slack his mouth and how mesmerized his eyes, Eddie  _ blushed,  _ crimson and sudden under the accusation. 

“S’not - s’not like that,” he mumbled, and Matt raised his fingers to gently push Eddie’s mouth closed, clawed digits cradling his chin. The touch brought a dopey, bewildered smile to Eddie’s face as Matt’s talons glided over the underside of his jaw. Petting him the way Matt so often liked to be petted himself. 

“It is like that,” Matt insisted, “the evidence declares it so.” His hand fell away, and at once, Eddie felt the spell start to lift. Matt had looked briefly around the living room as if searching for something; considering. “I like you, too. Peter made me real. You keep us both real.”  _ Protector,  _ he acknowledged silently, nodding to himself. Eddie wanted to be a  _ protector.  _ That was what was in his heart, alongside all that wrath and envy. There was good, too.

Down below, they never talked about the  _ good. _ Virtue was just something to turn into Sin. That was why they did what they did. Waging war on humanity. On heaven, however silent it seemed nowadays. 

Refusing to be drawn into that ring of darkness, Matt swung back around to catch Eddie’s eye again, thoughtfully. He knew where to aim his energy; how to spin a gilded rope to catch his prey - well, he needed a better word for them now - and reel them in. Eddie; in all his anxiety that rolled off him in waves of cortisol and citrus, needed reassurance. That he was strong; a good protector, a  _ provider,  _ someone whose desires were not shameful. Who needed to know there was a place for him, too, in all of this. That without him…

“Peter would’ve never found me without you,” Matt murmured, the realization settling inside of him. Eddie, once more transfixed in topaz pools, floated closer, nodding a little. “...for this and many other reasons, I will tell you about me. Anything you wish to know.” Matt’s mouth twitched; the faintest of grins as Eddie’s brow found his own. Together they lingered, Eddie’s nose nudging his own, and Matt hummed under his breath. 

“Tell me what you like,” Eddie whispered - hoarse and honest. It was always like this, under the beams of truth that poured; molten, from under Matt’s lashes. He knew he could draw the honor out of a man; his innermost purpose or desires known. Eddie always wanted to know what his partner(s) wanted - Matt among them, now.  _ What noodles, what happiness, what,  _ and  _ how can I help?  _ It resonated between them, cooling and soothing. Structured like stone, a hearth for a home. And he; Matt, the flame.

Matt half-smiled outright and pressed a featherlight kiss under one of Eddie’s eyes, murmuring, “Peter.” Eddie grinned lazily at that, lids starting to droop as Matt kissed beneath the other next. “You.” He thought it over. He’d already said noodles, and Eddie knew much about his preferences otherwise. What music to put on, how to arrange the bed to best suit Matt snuggled between the two married men. He even knew which articles of clothing to sacrifice to Matt - the softest of well-worn flannels that smelled of the woods and distant fires, or the scarves whose fibers still held traces of the animals they’d sheared to make the garments. Not to mention a v-neck that Matt had all but rolled around with upon discovering - just something so thin and soft it was like holding the air in his hands made solid. It reminded him of Peter. It smelled like both Peter and Eddie.

“...Words,” Matt decided next, nodding to himself. Eddie moved along with him, mirroring, their heads knocking together without pain. “Like the words you read sometimes. Write sometimes. The poems. I would like more of those, please.” His lips pressed to Eddie’s brow and the human sighed, the enchantment once again ebbing as Matt’s gaze left his own. The dark swam with rivulets of copper in the afterimages, as if he’d just lifted his head to observe an eclipse in real-time, reverent in his destruction. 

“Warmth,” Matt added in a murmur, kissing down to the end of Eddie’s nose. The man began to stir and draw back, Matt settling his hands on Eddie’s own to keep him still for a moment or two, spinning no more yarn to ensnare him again - merely touches, now. Merely tenderness. Leathery pads of fingers splayed across well-worked knuckles, and Matt knew the origin of each mark; the nicks and notches from work. Old fights. A bag of broken glass he’d forgotten about before hefting haphazardly. He was a man who moved with everything that he had once he knew that he had it - slowing down so seldom, save to overanalyze and worry. Overthinking. He was doing it now, which was why Matt held him fast.

“Relax, Eddie,” Matt said quietly, and the other man’s shoulders dropped an inch or two with a shuddering breath in the eternal black-red of Matt’s world. The demon nosed the side of his face, lips catching his temple, and kissed his way to Eddie’s ear, whispering, “there’s no reason to be afraid. Not while I am here. You protect. I protect. Peter is safe. You are safe.” 

“Jeez,” Eddie croaked back in the quiet cradled between them. Matt’s tail flicked, settling over his legs for a second before moving away again. “You’re...really somethin’. Words, huh? I uh. I can do words, Matty.”  _ Matty.  _ The name brought a flood of contentment to Matt that led to a slow blink and a murmur of wordless appreciation. “Just…” Eddie’s hand settled softly on his calf from where he’d curled up beside him on the sofa, the human getting to his feet. “I’ll get us a book’a poems, how about that? We should look into gettin’ you your own stuff...braille books, maybe - shit, I’d have to learn braille - well. I can do that. I think. Maybe. If you like words, you should have words, plain and simple…”

The idle chatter continued, but Matt wasn’t listening anymore.

His focus instead turned to a corner of the room blacker than most, even in his limited line of non-vision. Something in the shadows stirred; sinuous and purposeful. Cracks of heat began to bubble up and burst; magma spilling out of the sediment and floorboards. It was only for him; of course - the ichor was unknown to the man still pawing through the shelves with rustles and jostles of papery spines. But up the ink crawled, over the walls, consuming light.

She always consumed. The light, and everything else.

“Why do you delay returning to us?” When she spoke, it was with the low, sizzling sound of steam rising through the vents in Hell’s darkest corridors. The split of tectonic plates as Satan himself stomped by, drumming up discontent in her wake. A cunning smile always cloying the corners of her words, when she spoke, everyone was compelled to listen. Matt’s breathing slowed. Time slowed. Every hair on his body stood to attention, the sole focus of his bright eyes the outline of her that his mind supplied engraved in flame - a beast of black and umber, amber-gold lines of fire running through her. Hair an oil spill; hands full of beautiful hate. Elegant in every agony she caused.

“Elektra,” Matt whispered, “it’s not time.”  _ It couldn’t already be time. _

“You were supposed to bring us souls  **_decades_ ** past,” cinders snapped and popped as Elektra paced closer to him. Ebony hands encapsulated him; long fingers -  _ too long,  _ just slightly too many joints - curling across his throat. Matt tensed beneath the touch, chin lifting. Elektra dipped low to purr against his ear: “do not forget the real reason you were made. This pretense will not save you. You’re already damned.” There was a quiet laugh as her teeth grazed his ear; barbed and oozing condescension: 

_ “Did you forget your purpose?” _

Unstuck by her words, Matt twisted in place with a hiss, claws lengthening on his hand - 

But they buried themselves in the back of the couch, rather than her polished flesh, and, trembling, Matt felt the feathers and cotton fuzz drift in the air around him. Behind him, Eddie selected a book from the shelves as Elektra’s parting message made its way through the closing door she’d entered from:

_ Be seeing you soon,  _ **_my love._ **

“Matt?” Eddie’s voice cut through his frantic haze, a balm to a broken tendon - mending a severed tether. Stitching him back to reality. The books were set aside on the end table, Eddie sinking back down onto the sofa beside him. “...what’d the couch ever do to you?” Eddie tried to sound teasing, but Matt could hear the unsettled wariness back in his words. A flash of anger burst through him -  _ Elektra.  _ She brought that out in him. Ruined things.

_ It’s what we all do. _

_ Did you forget your purpose? _

“Matthew,” Eddie tried - and the extension of the name, the broadening of it, in turn, broadened his world again. Matt blinked, and the fury passed - like venom being sucked from a wound. Eddie fingers carefully found the side of his face again, and Matt found himself awash in the familiar scents again. The world above. The mortal coil.  _ Safe. _

“I am here, Eddie.” Clawed hands slid over Eddie’s wrists, and, trembling a little, Matt swallowed. Eddie’s brow found his own again, worry rolling off the other man in currents that all but blew Matt over with how deep the tide of care flowed. Matt’s eyes prickled at the corners; a foreign feeling he didn’t have a name for in himself. Humans might’ve called it...relief, he supposed. Yes.  _ Relief. _

He was...feeling more than he used to, Matt realized. In Hell, all emotions burned away save the ones that best served the Sins.

Here…

_ Charity.  _ Eddie kissed his forehead, murmuring things Matt couldn’t hear past the pounding in his ears.  _ Patience. Temperance. Kindness. _ Virtue...after virtue, after virtue. 

Sins left a demon hungry. But Virtues…

Matt felt the fullness and exhaustion following a feast as he curled up closer to Eddie’s embrace, once again hiding against him. 

“Sorry, Eddie,” he said - a first for him, as well. There was no guilt in Hell that didn’t belong to humans. But as he picked the residual mess from the shredded couch out from under his claws, he felt...what he assumed was remorse. For the decimation of the fabric and stuffing. For the disruption of a quiet night. For the concern Eddie covered him in, burly arms wrapped around his silken frame. 

And for the doom that waited; pacing, he knew, in the dark - somewhere beyond the human eye, but never far from his own. 

“It’s okay,” Eddie said, not knowing what else to say. “It’s, uh...it’s just a couch. Do you...do you wanna talk about it?” His fingers rubbed circles in Matt’s shoulders, and the demon ducked under his chin, silent.  _ Guess not. _ Eddie swallowed, setting his own chin atop Matt’s brow. Holding each other in the gloomy living room, midnight blues wrapping them both in cooling tones, Eddie had to wonder just how far he’d dropped his guard - and whether or not opening this door, however inadvertent, had truly been the right thing. Matt was what he was, but - 

He was a  _ who _ , too. 

That much was evident when he spoke again; his voice smaller, muffled against Eddie’s chest: “can I have the words now, please, Eddie…?” Something wrenched in Eddie’s heart - clicking elsewhere in his brain.

_ Whatever he’s been through, he’s here now. He’s  _ ours. Eddie’s, Peter’s. They could make the most of this. For him. For all of them.

And they could protect each other from whatever hurt most in their world(s). 

Freeing one hand to reach behind himself, Eddie selected a book at random and drew Matt against his side, the two of them entangled on the sofa in a clasp of limbs.  _ Sonnets;  _ Shakespearean. Good enough, he figured. A little reading to chase the demons from his demon - Peter’s demon; gently borrowed, at present - he hoped, anyway.

_ “ _ Okay, Matty...Sonnet 1.” Eddie cleared his throat as Matt nestled closer still, tail looping around his middle. Eddie jerked slightly; still getting used to that, but pressed on: “ _ From fairest creatures we desire increase,”  _ he began, Matt’s fingers joining his to trace the page of the bound book in his hands,  _ “that thereby beauty's rose might never die…” _

Matt felt the gateway to Hell close in the distance, and, one uttered line at a time, found his way back to the good place in the brownstone, tucked up against Eddie Brock’s side. He spoke the poems like a prayer. He warded Matt and Peter against evil with his voice alone. Every sentiment spoken was a sentinel keeping watch in the night. They were the open windows; the unlocked doors into the hearts of men.

And like every good demon knew how best to do, Matt crawled into the heart while he could, to let Virtue hold him without pain, well-fed by the love he wasn’t sure he deserved.

But Lucifer knew how he _craved it._


	10. The Orchard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go apple-picking after a hard day's work.

###  Matt hadn’t wanted to talk about what happened, so Peter and Eddie hadn’t pushed him. 

He’d spent the next day curling up in various spots around the house — the desk, the kitchen counter, the ceiling, the bed — and nodding off, peeking up uneasily at even the slightest of sounds. Peter reached down [or, in the case of the ceiling slumber, up] and soothed Matt as best he could with ear-rubs, but there wasn’t much else to be done, unfortunately. 

Eddie had, for his part, gone out to immediately gather up the softest and snuggliest of blankets and pillows to take with them on the next job fix — Murdock House wasn’t going anywhere, and Matt seemed to hesitate when they’d asked if he wanted to return with them to keep mapping out the renovations. 

So instead, one gray Tuesday afternoon a week and a half prior to Halloween, they set off to the local brownstone together with equipment loaded up, determined to finish a project for a woman named Vanessa — who wanted all the historical detail preserved, but none of the expense soared in modernizing what needed to be modernized — heat, electric, and smart-house wiring. The latter Eddie left up to Peter — he understood that kind of technology on an entirely different level. Eddie was good with the hands-on stuff well-enough, but the tinkering Peter got up to was on another level entirely. 

Matt had been promised that if he was good, they’d go do something fun. Get out of the city for a bit, Peter suggested. Eddie had offered to take them apple-picking, and, when not immediately shot down, picked up money ahead of time — for, like Peter said, despite all his oddities,  _ Matty was always good. _

The brownstone they were working on was detailed with little cherubs in the stonework around the door, and Matt spent a considerable amount of time running his disguised fingers over their tiny faces before the other two men pulled him inside. Once in, he had warily turned in place before announcing,

“The woman who lived here before didn’t want to die. She spent too long looking up ways to avoid it. But she drank bourbon to excess and in the end, eternity found her.”

Then he’d promptly lifted his head from the odd angle he’d bowed it, and blinked roundly in Peter and Eddie’s stunned, silent direction. “Hungry.”

Eddie had slipped him a few homemade granola bars and set up the little pillow and blanket fort for him in a corner of the living room, where Matt curled up to listen to the two men work, Peter picking out a gentler mix than usual in acknowledgment of Matt’s sensitive ears — they’d both found out the hard way just how delicate those pointy appendages were. 

Peter blaring music from the car five blocks away, for example, had resulted in Matt skittering anxiously from wall to wall until Peter came in through the door: at which point Matt had  _ launched  _ himself bodily his boy’s way. Apparently hearing Peter for that long without _ feeling  _ him close enough by was cause for concern. 

But the Smiths seemed to suit him best, they’d found. There was a slower swing to his tail, and, if standing, a little bob of his head and a swivel of his hips. Peter encouraged the dancing, taking Matt by the hands to move them both around wherever they were — usually the kitchen. And by the end of the number, Matt would be jiving, Peter and he all but thrashing as they laughed or sang along. From his desk or the table or the stove, Eddie found himself more and more endeared to the chaos day by day.

Matt was an absolute angel while they worked - the two of them meant he could save his strength and drop what research told Eddie was a  _ glamour,  _ more or less an illusion on oneself to appear as otherwise. As such, Matt wound up in his fuzzier form furled up on the nest Eddie’d constructed for him with Peter’s help - still wearing a flannel of faded gold and checkered black over a white v-neck and soft gray sweatpants. Every so often, he’d start to nod off despite their banging and fussing in the house’s infrastructure, and Peter would stop for a break to swoop in and catch his head as it bobbed forward, pressing kisses all over a startled, sleepy demon’s pointy face to appreciate his adorable mug all the more.

And then of course there was the taking of pictures. Eddie watched, exasperated, as out of the corner of his eye, Peter snapped a photo of the now-dozed-off demon on his back, little legs twitching in the air, and glanced back up at his husband; teary-eyed. 

Almost verbatim to the last two or three [or four dozen] times Matt had done something moderate-to-severely adorable, Peter choked out, “have you  _ ever  _ seen anything so cute in your  _ whole life? _ ” That or “ _ he’s so cuuuuuuuute _ ” to the point where the length of the word no longer made it onto his  _ own  _ feed - yes, he was guilty of adding to the revelations-chapter-Matthew of their lives online, but - 

Peter did make a compelling argument. The boy was  _ precious. _

Even now, sprawled on his back like a bug, his feet and hands kicking at the air, Matthew looked every bit some fantastical imaginary friend brought to life - and, in many ways, Eddie supposed he must’ve been. Peter certainly didn’t have any explanations for what had transpired beyond what he knew - that he’d touched something he wasn’t supposed to, resulting in Matt’s freedom. And Eddie, though working on a posterboard of various elements that might’ve fed into this preternatural occasion, was nowhere near solving a mystery he was beginning to think didn’t even need to be solved.

Not like the mystery of why the baseboard of this place looked like it had a boch job done to it in 1983, or the enigma that was the Italian tile in the  _ basement,  _ of all places - the house was an eclectic mix of nonsense that didn’t add up, and it was just their job to streamline it from top to bottom. All while Matt settled in to nap nearby, tail curled around himself with the flat of the end over his nose. He’d huddled into a resolute ball after a while, only every so often calling out for Peter or Eddie in a faint  _ herro? _ That of course led to another round of Peter dropping what he was doing to rush Matt’s way again. The cycle was a healthy one, however - Eddie knew that he, for one, rejoiced in the sounds of the chirps and fussing that followed those intervals. 

It wasn’t that Peter had been unhappy - he’d always just sort of been a bit of a restless soul. And Eddie understood that - he accommodated it as much as possible, dragging them both on roadtrips, letting Peter wander off sometimes [provided he remembered to take his phone, of course] - they made plans to travel further once they’d settled a few more properties, too. 

But Brooklyn had been the longest Peter had stayed anywhere yet - and Eddie knew that anniversary, of sorts, loomed on the horizon - something to address, potentially, though without fear or trepidation. Just the acknowledgment [and perhaps praise] of holding still for as long as he had.

_ With me,  _ Eddie noted, turning his meteorite ring with a little smile, studying the band,  _ of all people. _

And now, a little demon, too.

And that brought him back to the photo conundrum - now that Matt was so obviously out and about in their lives, their friends were asking about him. Carlton, the financial guru type from Manhattan working in the science stocks and...some kind of magic all its own, from what Eddie could tell - wanted to know everything about their little house-guest. Peter’s show biz pal Scott kept DM’ing him about “the best special effects I’ve ever seen!” and “how do we not have you in the industry, man?” 

Sooner or later, they’d have to figure out a way to introduce Matt to everybody - and sooner or later, they needed to figure out just what that meant for...all three of them. Eddie’s heart sank, though not because of Matt - or Peter. Far from.

It was the complicated nature of relationships, he supposed. Humans were messy and particular and needed Reasons for everything, whereas demons, it seemed [from the one-time experience so far] just kept everything quite blunt and straightforward: no matter how charming they were.

So y’all had been had, and Peter suggested a “Friendsgiving” of a sort — once October ended, they’d indoctrinate Matt into the ranks of their friends and hope for the best. Matt was interested only in the exploration of “the world above”, as he called it upon occasion — and Peter and Eddie’s happiness. 

By some minor miracle, they were able to wrap the house up in a timely fashion, starting at 6:30 [despite Peter’s whining] and ending before 3:00. The hour twenty it would take to get them to Harvest Moon Orchard was worth it — if only because Peter and Matt sang along [one like an angel, the other in a soft and rusty voice that, with practice, might be beautiful] pretty much nonstop the whole way. Eddie’s face hurt from the smile he couldn’t wipe away — he sang along to “There is a Light That Never Goes Out”, one of the few Smiths’ songs he actually knew by heart. 

“This song is about you, Pe-ter,” Matt said when the song ended, fading into something else. Golden Earring, by the sound of things. Peter beamed, reaching back to ruffle Matt’s hair as the car roared over a bridge, scattering fallen leaves in its wake. 

“What makes ya say that, Matty?” One eye closed under the impact of Peter’s hand; still a little caked with plaster, and Matt sighed. 

“You are my light that never goes out.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie watched Peter’s face take on a myriad of emotions — the journey beginning with disbelief, then adoration, then tears. Happy, overflowing tears. Eddie braced himself as if a THX intro was about to occur. And it might as well have been. Peter’s voice squeaked to life on a  _ “baaaaabe” _ and Eddie bit his inner cheek, trying not to laugh. 

The cry of  _ “he’s so cuuuuute” _ was this time punctuated by burbling giggles as Matt leaned out of the backseat to kiss and lick away Peter’s tears. Unable to refrain much longer, both from how good the day had been and how good his boys both were, Eddie belted out a laugh of his own as they rounded the bend lined with gilded trees to the signs of the Harvest Moon Orchard. 

The place was dwindling down for the day, which was just as well. A few families with red-faced children; bright-eyed from the sugar of apple cider donuts and outdoor weather, made their way toward the front to leave. Eddie got them a stick, a bag, and a couple of donuts — much to Peter’s glee and Matt’s wariness. He licked some of the cinnamon-sugar off the ring, then passed it to Eddie, who ruffled Matt’s hair before devouring the goods. 

Off into the trees they went then, toward the faint curls of fog between the twisting, gnarled trunks. Branches seemed to stretch toward them, cartoonishly humanlike, and Matt, humanlike himself in this instance, brushed his cheeks against the limbs as they passed. Peter traced a hand across one of the trees, humming happily as he went. Sugar stuck to his face, glimmering on sandy scruff, he looked little more than a puppy that’d found personhood. Dotingly, Eddie brushed a hand across Peter’s jaw to dislodge the grains, and his husband canted his head into Eddie’s palm, kissing the pad of his calloused thumb. 

They managed to snag a few apples as they went — normally enough, at first. But once the passersby began to thin in crowd, Matt got more playful. More lackadaisical. He began to show off, flitting from ground to top of tree, snagging the shiniest and most untouched of the apples with lashes of a revealed tail, a snatch of claws, a somersault wherein he landed in Peter’s arms, apples clutched firmly in his own. 

He was met with cheers and the weight of the world finally seemed to fall away from Matt at long last. Whatever had been bothering him dissolved the more Peter boosted his spirits in the misty groves, going so far as to lift Matt and spin him, met with a gasp followed by a chuckle, the demon [still disguised as a man] lifting his arms as if content to fly that way. 

When set down, Matt wobbled sideways from the spin and crashed into Eddie [the designated carrier of apples], who caught him just as easily. Shiny gold eyes glinted from behind tinted glasses, and, making note, Eddie nodded to himself, instinctively kissing Matt’s forehead before setting him upright. 

“Few more, I think,” Eddie murmured. “Matt’s gettin’ tired, Peter.”

“You are, baby?” Matt hesitated, then nodded, padding away in untied boots [anything tighter and he protested with growls, typically]. “Alrighty,” Peter smiled sidelong at Eddie, fingers slipping down to catch his hand, swinging their arms together. “How about the one to your left near the big trees? That looks good.” Matt twisted, sniffing the air, and bounded toward the tree Peter indicated. Even without seeing it, he simply knew — its fragrance and closeness was easy enough to track. A bauble on a branch waiting to be ensnared. 

He knew the moment he smelled it, however, Peter was wrong. The apple had a wound, seeping browning insides toward the air. A songbird had gone after a worm there; the caterpillar’s chlorophyll scent still fresh and bloody against the peel of skin. Turning it in place, Matt showed Peter and Eddie the busted fruit. The disappointed “oh” that followed almost broke his heart. 

Matt didn’t know he could...feel like  _ that, _ too. 

“It’s — it’s okay, Matty. Sorry, we can find another apple…” Matt shook his head a little, dark hair drifting over his tinted glasses [the product of a flea market find Peter told him “complimented his eyes”, whatever that meant]. The apple rotated in his palm, the copse of ash and oak beyond the apple orchard limits seeming to lean in slowly, little by little, as if listening in. 

The orchard darkened from the depth of those groves, the copses quietly crouching closer. Ghostfires gathered in the shade, wisping with hisses, unfurling and snapping. Matt continued to let the apple pivot of its own accord, glimmering gold spiraling around its circumference. Peter and Eddie trailed off mid-discussion of dinner plans; mystified. Encased in the browns, reds, and oranges against the deep sage and jewel-tone purple of dusk, Matt levitated a little off the orchard ground. The apple floated above his palm, its flesh stitching. Mending. The pips replenished, the rot fading away. 

After a few more swirling, whooshing moments of wind and tossing trees, Matt settled back on the ground. Mouths open, Peter and Eddie simply gaped ar Matt. The demon, now too tired to hold onto his glamour, stood and swayed, the hand holding the fruit extended to Peter in particular. A temptation, redder than any apple in the orchard. 

“...fixed it,” Matt croaked softly, “like you two do. Want to fix. Not...not ruin.” He bowed forward a little, speech slipping into a growly murmur. “Don’t want to ruin…”

Peter swept in to catch Matt and the apple as both teetered toward the ground. Eyes round, he stared up at Eddie, the other man having taken a knee to help mere seconds after Peter. 

“What — what does he mean, Eddie?” They worked together to get Matt onto Peter’s back, legs and tail loosely wrapped around his middle. At a loss, Eddie blinked, glancing around the empty [and now completely ordinary] orchard. In the distance, a couple of crows cried. A sheep baa’ed. Everything seemed quaint and comforting, if still a little creepy in the thickets and brambles by the edge of the apple tree line. 

“...dunno, Peter,” Eddie murmured, shimmying out of his fleece-lined jacket to drape it over the groggy demon on his darling’s back. “But we’ll ask him once he’s eaten. Let’s just get outta here for now.”

Passing Eddie the perfect apple to add to their bag of lesser fruits, Peter shifted Matt’s legs around himself to hold more securely to his daydream-come-true, murmuring a faint, “hang on, Matty” before they all set off whence they came. Matt thrummed against Peter’s neck to reassure him all was well, and Peter squeezed his legs to let Matt know the same.

Eddie took one last furtive glance around to ensure they hadn’t been seen. Something tugged at his consciousness, trying to pull his focus, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Chalking it up to nerves, he figured, if nothing else, they were far enough away from the city that nobody they knew was out here. And if they were, well - there was always the old  _ it’s almost Halloween  _ excuse. Getting more useful by the day. More important was getting them all out safely - making sure both Matt [and the now-worried Peter] were taken care of.

Anything else Eddie could deal with in due course. They came first.

Always.

Off they went, engulfed by the cloudy weather and the onslaught of creeping night; chasing away the scents of cider and damp dirt underfoot.

From the depths of the deepening woods, a pair of sea-glass eyes stared out of the gloom, watching their departure. 


	11. A Timely Romp in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just an outing to clear their heads. NBD. TBD. SSD [super sweet demon].

###  Prospect Park was gray, red, and gold all over.

Clouds had slated themselves across the sky, low-hanging enough that fog crept between the spires of the buildings, peeking like ghosts around the corners of the sidewalks. It had been Peter’s idea to get out and stretch their legs [following the loss of several plates when an overzealous demon burst out of the shadows and scampered unexpectedly into Eddie’s purview on soundless feet] while they still could - once Winter came, no doubt they’d be cooped up inside more.

It was a day or two after the events of the orchard - time had been a bit of a blur between an emergency flip job that’d needed doing upstate [Eddie had driven the boys home and essentially turned right around to go back up] and a lot of lazy naps for Peter and Matt following what Peter assumed was Matt overdoing it at apple-picking.

It made Peter wonder whether or not he and Matt shared the same pool of energy - their bond was as strong as ever, after all. And he’d felt a little more tired than normal when they’d gotten back to the car post-picking. Then again, he’d carried Matt the entirety of the way out of the trees and back to their vehicle, so Peter wasn’t entirely sure. Eddie added his speculative ramblings to his research nonetheless - research that had outgrown one journal and moved on to a corkboard and a couple of other stacks of paper. Everything  _ Matt  _ was jotted down, Eddie taking all opportunities to hone in on the details. 

He had his notebook in hand even as they walked, preferring that for this kind of venture. His phone tended to glitch and go a bit haywire the more enthused Matt was, anyhow - and given how the lightbulbs in the house tended to shatter if he got excited in  _ other  _ ways, well - Eddie wasn’t about to risk his direct line to all his clients for a little demonic interlude.

But he followed along after Peter and Matt, notebook and pen in hand, watching the lanky blond chase their shorter companion. Though the day was overcast, the shadow that followed Matt whenever the sun was out still wore its horns and tail. Eddie made quick note of that, along with a bulleted line of  _ getting desensitized more and more every day  _ with a shrugging doodle. This sort of thing wasn’t nearly as frightening as it used to be - mere weeks ago. Getting startled into dropping plates clean out of the dishwasher aside, of course.

Matt seemed particularly interested in the Esdale Bridge, ducking back and forth underneath it and chirping to hear the echo resound. Spinning on his heel every so often, the demon disguised as a regular human -  _ “a very cute human, _ ” Peter kept insistently adding at any given opportunity - kept throwing his voice, letting it resound below the arch. Delight crossed his face every time the noise reverberated, and Matt sighed to himself in contentment. 

_ Like home,  _ Peter thought, unbidden - and, raking his hand through golden hair that always defied gravity, he checked himself, rocking back on his heels. Whether that was his thought or Matt’s, he wasn’t sure - but the demon flashed him a toothy smile [a little  _ too  _ toothy  _ and  _ pointy to be natural in a disguised face] before frolicking on down the path, his stride confident as any New York lawyer’s en route to the courthouse.

Besides telepathy [the brunt of which was for Peter; though Eddie occasionally woke from a sound sleep  _ intensely  _ thinking of Pad Thai], they’d found that Matt enjoyed casting his voice around - some impish streak among bedevilled genes that made him perfectly-capable of imitating just about anything. 

It’d started with  _ I Love Lucy,  _ eerily enough. Hearing Ricky’s voice clear as a bell, none of the static from the old recordings, calling out “ _ Lucy, I’m home! _ ” when Eddie got back from an errand. The two humans had stopped and regarded one another, then glanced up - to find Matt perched happily on the ceiling, his little talons tapping a rhythm against the plaster. 

Then had come the trickery with the two of them - Eddie had rushed downstairs at the sound of Peter calling, “ _ Eddie - help _ !” only to find Peter unconscious on the sofa; the TV on and Matt innocently sitting on the arm of the sofa, tail swishing. Eddie had granted Matt an extremely unamused look before warning him to Not Do That Again.

Of course, he did anything but listen - next up, it was Peter’s turn. With Eddie under the cabinets fixing the sink one lazy Sunday afternoon, he’d nearly wound up with a pile of Peter in his lap [not the worst thing in the world, but not ideal when running routine maintenance] with the force and speed the other man jetted into the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Peter’d asked him, swinging down to peer into the gloom with wide eyes. Eddie squinted at him from around the pipes, confused.

“Yeah - just...fixin’ stuff. My music too loud?”

“No,” Peter said strangely, brow furrowing. “I just thought I’d heard - “ He straightened abruptly out of Eddie’s line of sight, heaving a sigh. “Ah. Of course.”

“Peter,” Eddie heard his own voice say from above. He jerked out from under the sink to find Matt hanging upside-down from the ceiling, grinning from ear to ear. It was downright eerie, but Eddie’s words came out of Matt’s mouth with such ease they were unmistakable. “I can’t get this damn thing off!” 

“What’d I fuckin’ tell you?” Eddie barked, and lashed out a hand to try and snag Matt’s tail as he lunged to his feet. Matt dropped to all fours on the ceiling and scampered away, cackling softly to himself. Eddie glowered at Peter, one oily finger lifting in a warning. “That’s  _ your  _ demon.”

“ _ Our  _ demon,” Peter’d said defensively, and, pouting, stomped off after Matthew in a huff. 

All of that, like everything Matt-related, was forgiven quickly. It was hard to reprimand someone who spent the majority of his time actually asleep with his head on Eddie’s shoulder while he worked, or nuzzling up under Peter’s chin; plaintive pleas for attention and affection at any given opportunity. And some not given - true, Matt had knocked a myriad of things out of Peter’s hands in order to lounge on him - going so far as to take running leaps into his arms that nearly bowled them both over 9 times out of 10. He’d done similar to Eddie, and been surprised to find himself caught one-handed, more or less - ensnared around the waist and gently held against a strong hip - before being set down again with a gentle ruffle of his hair.

He’d been a massive help in dealing with the bounty of apples they’d brought back from the orchard, too. Beyond the two he’d make quick work of on the walk over - ones he’d selected after considerable deliberation from the fragrant pyramid in the leaf-shaped dish on the kitchen table - Matt had hovered over Eddie’s shoulder [quite literally levitating several extra inches off the floor] to better see what he was doing. Eddie had jokingly asked for more cinnamon-sugar, and Matt, after a brief internal debate, licked a clawed digit before tapping the apples Eddie was currently stirring in the skillet on the stove. The scent that’d permeated from the pan after that had been nothing short of decadent - Eddie had savored the flavor and hid his face in Matt’s fuzzy shoulder following. It was  _ shockingly  _ good. Overwhelmingly so. 

From that, they’d managed to make dumplings, turnovers, and a small series of pies to share with the neighbors - and still had plenty of fresh fruit to spare that seemed reluctant to over-ripen or spoil on the counters. It was as if Matt’s presence encouraged the Autumn to hang around that much longer - even with Halloween and November looming on the horizon, the freshness stayed. Crisp as the air beyond the city. And even so, with their unexpected guest around, the air within their lives felt similarly. Matt’s presence was the embrace of a wood damp with dew on freshly-fallen leaves, a warm mug of tea, and all the mulling spices one could possibly imagine.

They still weren’t able to get him to talk about much of anything regarding his origins or Murdock House, however - Eddie had gently mentioned receiving a call from a potential buyer interested in the manor, and Matt had shut down almost completely, retreating to doze on the bed, rather than remain in the living room. The next day, Eddie’d found he’d missed a call from said buyer - the man very confused, saying that if Eddie didn’t  _ want  _ him to put a downpayment on the property, he could’ve just said so yesterday.

When Eddie’d confronted Peter, Peter had protested, saying he knew nothing of a change in plans - and Matt, to his credit, stayed perfectly; innocently quiet. Till both men asked him directly, of course.

“No one should live there,” Matt told them somberly, his fingers restlessly running over the raised language on the pages of a book he was still struggling to understand, “burn it down. Set them free.”

“ _ Who? _ ” Eddie’d asked warily. Matt, hesitant, spoke no further on the subject - but admitted that he’d “borrowed” Eddie’s voice to encourage the current buyer to reconsider. There’d been a split second of anger to follow, but Eddie had eventually let it go. The property still needed a ton of work regardless - and he had every intention of returning to it as soon as possible. 

“You can come with us,” Peter soothed Matt, stroking his hair. The demon had nudged his nose against Peter’s wrist with a forlorn sound. “It’ll be okay, Matty. You’ll see. You can be our project operator. Tell us what would be best for the house. Would you like that?” Peter could feel Eddie’s gaze burning holes in the back of his head, but he didn’t care. Matt had softened up considerably after that, nodding his acquiescence. That felt agreeable to him.

“We’ll go back on Friday, then,” Eddie said tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “With a few of the crew. You too, Matt, which means best behavior, glamour up, the whole shebang. Okay? If you’re going to collaborate, you need to be a part of the team. No more decisions without us.” Matt had turned with a little flick of his ears to consider Eddie’s words, then nodded thoughtfully. 

“Sounds reasonable, Eddie.” 

And so there they were, a hazy Thursday late-morning, wandering Prospect Park for a brief exit from their cares and worries. There was a scattering of pigeons as Matt rounded a corner a little too quickly, and with a burst of feathers and fallen foliage, he spun in place, laughter cracking the lines of his face as he turned skyward to follow the ascent of the flock.

From on high, the heavens opened up just enough to drop a fleck of water onto his cheek.

The result was an almost-instantaneous change; the illusion slipping down the side of his face in a streak of rust - as if a loving finger had smeared a painted freckle and turned it into a stripe. Another raindrop fell, and another, and another. Peter, caught up in tossing rocks into a nearby fountain, paused only to scrunch up his face - then rushed back toward Eddie, who’d come prepared. A large, black umbrella unfolded like a pair of nocturnal wings; stretching plenty far enough over Peter and Eddie with room to spare. Matt, a few yards away, whirled around again, the rain plinking off of a pair of horns that’d sprouted into view in the sudden shower. As the water ran down his face, the cinnamon hue only bloomed further - fur and fangs alike began to show, and golden eyes glowed like lamps triggered by the downpour.

“Hell’s bells,” Eddie commented dryly, and Peter motioned for Matt to come closer.

“Matty! We’re over here, buddy. C’mon.”

Whether it was the rain - which he’d only yet experienced from inside the sanctuary of warm, dry walls - or the fresh air, or the fact that he couldn’t quite pinpoint his humans in the hubbub of the storm - Matt didn’t come when called.

He instead took off at a pace so rapid and excitable he all but tore fire in his wake - shoes flying off as clawed feet hit the ground, Matt lunging from puddle to gathering puddle, splattering flannel and fur alike. The surface tension of water breaking under leathery pads of hands and soles felt - unnatural in the best kind of way. There’d been no water in Hell, of course - not unless you went to the Circle of Storms, or the Pit of Ice - and even so, it wasn’t water one wanted to experience. So he’d steered clear.

This, however - every droplet sang with a musicality unrivaled, rising in octave with the chiming of fingers skimming glasses at a banquet [or so he’d imagined]. Violin strings, perhaps - from the way the water fell between the trees. Percussive taps against the fountain and stones, the little chirrups and flutters of birds happy to bathe in the water.

He was shivering and panting before he knew it - hopping from just over a rock to land on a branch, tail looping around the trunk briefly for support - then leaping forward into the abyss, realizing all too late that the beaded curtain of moisture made it impossible to figure out exactly where to land - 

But he landed squarely in Eddie’s arms nonetheless, the human rocking back  _ hard  _ on his heels, stumbling to stay upright. Peter caught the umbrella and one of Matt’s hands as the demon buried his face into the crook of Eddie’s shoulder, quivering slightly. The long tail looped around Peter’s thigh to rope him in, and, under the sanctified dome of black nylon and steel frame, Matt found sanctuary again. 

Outside their little bubble, the storm drummed on, droning drizzle against the rustling, weakening limbs of tired trees.  _ To everything, _ Matt thought, and Peter finished aloud in a murmur:

“‘There is a season.’” 

Eddie, still clutching Matt, glanced sidelong at Peter - and found himself greeted by a beatific smile, his husband lifting a hand to rub between his shoulder-blades. Adjusting Matt’s weight as he had before, Eddie slid the demon’s legs around himself; the sweatpants soaked and stained by skidding through mud and grasses. The flannel was drenched likewise, and Matt’s fur stood on end as much as it could despite the weight of the weather. Peter pressed a kiss to the top of Matt’s head and those glowing golden eyes slid back open, a terracotta-colored cheek pressed into Eddie’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Peter asked - though he already knew the answer. Matt’s pointy little smile popped into view again, and he nodded, clutching Peter and Eddie that much closer. 

“I like it here,” Matt said softly. “But do not leave me.” He could already taste the budding tears from Peter at the request, and sighed internally. Humans were  _ very  _ soft.

They...also made Matt want to try to be the same. Soft. Or at the very least, open to softness.

“Of  _ course  _ not, baby,” Peter soothed, hand scritching up through Matt’s soppy dark locks. The demon hummed with relief, drooping more bonelessly against Eddie - who grimaced, now saddled with the full heft of the demon who’d clearly overdone it again.

“Gonna make you both some hot ramen when we get home,” Eddie muttered, nodding for Peter to start walking. The umbrella twirled up over their heads as Peter caught it like a baton from hand to hand, briefly sprinkling them all with an extra bit of shower. Eddie made a face, then smiled ruefully - resigned to his hellish fate. 

There were definitely worse things than this in life, though - real things to fear that weren’t a demon freshly-freed from the confines of a haunted prison. 

It was just a matter of perspective - looking beyond the gild and the ruby, up into the clarity of gray and black.

But none of them looked back at Esdale Bridge in time to see the shadow of things to come stalking free of the arch.


	12. Change is Gonna Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quiet moments of Murdock House. The project...is ongoing.  
> And so is life.

###  It was still relatively foggy when they rolled up to Murdock House on the appointed day.

Hammering and hard labor got underway in rapid succession, the crew of people the Quills called in when they needed them diligent workers who seldom asked questions. It was just as well - against the backdrop of the burning-bright foliage, Murdock House was darker than ever, a chiseled silhouette of stone that looked constantly caught in a storm. Rain rushed free of cleared gutters through the mouths of gargoyles, creating waterfalls upon which the fallen leaves fled. The scent of the air was nothing but wet, rich soil and the rot of Autumn. Everything was alive despite the transition toward Winter - breath steaming the air in streams of excitement from everyone present.

Well, almost everyone.

Matt hadn’t wanted to leave the car initially upon their long haul up the drive. He’d bunched himself in the backseat as if trying to vanish into the crevices, hiding his face in the crooks of his arms. Under the flannel blanket Eddie’d softened in the dryer with a few yarn balls, he looked positively forlorn - when asked why, he’d simply turned his face toward Peter and, for the longest time, said nothing.

But he was learning to let those fears of his out, Eddie figured - fixing the mirror so he could better see Matt in the back as they made their way up the long, curving drive around the too-still lake - and he did so then, voice soft as wind through the trees:

“Not going to put me back?”

“No!” Peter exclaimed, relieved to have an answer of any kind - and one hand slid under the blankets promptly to clasp Matt’s hand, fingers curling around his own. “No, absolutely not, cinnamon-sugar - you’re staying with us  _ forever,  _ remember? We wouldn’t do that to you. Nobody gets left behind. Remember  _ Lilo and Stitch? _ ” 

Eddie certainly did - the smile that tugged to life under his scruff was rueful. They’d made the charming discovery that Matt could, in fact, perform the vinyl-claw-mouth cast trick with the music. Being woken out of a sound sleep to reenact that moment from the movie hadn’t been how Eddie’d wanted to start his Sunday off, but - 

Wait. It  _ had  _ been Sunday, right? His brow furrowed faintly and Eddie ran a hand across his jaw; thinking. The car slowed toward the front where the two work trucks were, and he parked on autopilot, still debating. Sunday - Monday...when had they been here last? It still wasn’t Halloween - why wasn’t it…

“D’ya wanna stay here, baby?” Peter asked Matt softly, interrupting Eddie’s thoughts with an easy drawl. When he doted on Matt, sometimes that Missouri molasses slipped sweetly into his words, and, unable to resist, Matt poked his head out from under the blankets to study Peter - coming close to brushing noses with him as Peter leaned toward the backseat. There was a little snuffle; Matt nuzzling closer to Peter, followed by a shake of his head that he half-hid in the warmth of his shoulder. Peter squirmed an arm between the seats to cradle the back of Matt’s head, ruffling his dark hair tenderly, then kissed between his horns. “Then you know what comes next.”

From under the murmurs and pecks to his brow, Matt nodded - and as if some spell was broken, or put upon him hence, the glamour melted across him; cream engulfing hues of reddish-brown. Chin lifting, Matt met one of the kisses with some of his own, faint smile flickering to life under the giddy smooches he received from Peter. One eye cracked open; and, though sightless, Eddie felt as though it saw directly into his soul.

And that’s when he realized he’d been staring.

“You wish for kisses too, Eddie?” Matt asked coyly, finally drawing away from Peter’s lips [despite the lingering affections that made their way across his temple and brow]. Jerking his gaze away, Eddie shook his head and removed the keys to the Milano, flushed annoyance dyeing his neck a dark shade of red. 

“No,” Eddie grumbled, and heard Matt chuckle as he left the vehicle. They both knew he thought - and felt - otherwise. Peter, to his credit, only had eyes for Matt - trying to both leave the car himself and hold his hand at the same time. It proved a little fruitless, but the two of them managed to wriggle free nonetheless, bursting out into the cool Fall air with a rush of leather and spices to follow.

The guys on the team were some of the first to meet Matt - a little bemused as to why Eddie and Peter saw fit to bring him along, but adaptable nonetheless. The pay was good, and they had plenty to do, so a few gruff handshakes and a slap to a shoulder that made Matt tense [and growl, though nobody seemed to hear it but Peter] and they were off. No further explanation beyond “this is Matt, he’s invested” - an explanation that earned Eddie a baffled look from Peter and a bemused “invested?” from the devil himself.

Matt made his way carefully around the foyer of the house - stepping back inside proving to be the most daunting aspect out of everything presently. He was focused on the prickling energy that lingered in Murdock House, the same as it’d always been - now separate from it, he felt less exhausted. Or at least, tired in different ways. He wasn’t engulfed in the tapestry of remnants sewn together by time, amplified by the residue of limestone - the foundation of the house settling on an old quarry long-since abandoned. Murdock House was a mausoleum to a million different ideas; a crossroads where spirits tried in vain to find a path forward.

The funny thing about time was that it didn’t exist within Murdock House. Elektra mentioned  _ decades,  _ but the times wherein Matt remembered himself being awake; cognizant, aware...were few and far-between. They stretched in the abyssal place wherein he lived in the shadows, clawed his way across the walls and ceilings, trying to reach the realm of the living. He’d heard the rustle of cloth mark the change in years - going from the weighted rustle of wool over whalebone and bent metal, wooden-heeled shoes transitioning to softer slippers - and smelled the adjustments in cooking from the galley; the small kitchenette where, when he was conscious, he spent much of his time, sitting cross-legged on the counter where no one could see him, absorbing all the aromatic spices as he listened to the chatter. Words flowed through him;  _ osmosis,  _ he’d learned - once in a great while, someone would injure themselves or the Lord of the Manor might call upon him - 

But Matt didn’t like to think about those brief moments of tangibility. He didn’t like to go back to the past. The present was fine. It was so fine, in fact, he couldn’t consider thinking about the future. About  _ change. _

Maybe it was the impact of that  _ word;  _ **_change_ ** , or something - but as he paced back and forth in the little side garden, avoiding the ladders and workers going to-and-fro, Matt heard Peter start singing from somewhere in the house. His ears, disguised though they were, pricked up at the sound - tender as anything, a little taste of liquor like the sips he’d snuck from the crystalline chalice tucked away in the alcoves of the old Lord’s den - it burned a little behind his eyes even now, so sweet and brightly-fierce. 

He floated in over the threshold, following the tether of music through his eternities in the absence of light.

_ “I was born by the river in a little tent _

_ Oh, and just like the river I've been running ever since _

_ It's been a long, a long time coming _

_ But I know a change gon' come, oh yes it will _

_ It's been too hard living, but I'm afraid to die _

_ 'Cause I don't know what's up there beyond the sky…” _

“You will not die, Peter,” Matt said, once he’d found where his boy was. Peter jumped with a clatter of a small hammer, then laughed, sitting back hard against the faded, fraying wood of the staircase slowly being worked on. Above him, Matt perched like a gargoyle himself, human in appearance - all save the faint glow of needle-thin gold behind his tinted spectacles; twin pinpricks of a candle’s flame. “You will not,” Matt insisted, brow furrowing. The giddy reaction faded somewhat, though the warmth stayed in Peter’s voice as he answered Matt curiously:

“Whatcha mean, Matty?” 

“I mean in our bond...I will keep you alive forever.” He kept his voice carefully neutral, despite the rising feeling bubbling up in his chest - an ichor of something that threatened to engulf him; drag him down. Perhaps it was Hell. Perhaps it was duty he’d neglected, bound to this house. Perhaps it was every ghost he still felt roaming in and out of the halls, their energy, too, lost to time. 

Being back in these walls hurt, but less than if he came back without Peter. 

Matt heard the clink of the tools as Peter carefully set them aside and rose to his feet with a creak of long limbs. Warm hands found Matt’s face; smelling of sawdust and sweat, Peter’s thumbs curving over cheeks he’d been told  _ looked like they were covered with little tiny leaves; speckled egg, handsome boy… _ his eyes slid shut of their own accord behind his glasses and Matt tipped his head forward, his precarious placement on the edge of the banister beginning to waver.

“I got you,” Peter murmured, and gathered him up off the railing as if by second nature. Matt, arms looping around Peter’s neck, legs finding his middle, settled in for a moment, letting himself be cradled. For a long moment, they stood like that, the music man and his made-up boy. Murdock House observed them from on high; the tall rafters so deeply mahogany and towering they seemed a forest all around them. Peter snuggled Matt close and chewed over what to say next. 

“Immortality sounds pretty neat,” he settled for finally, “a little scary, but - not scared when you’re around…” Swaying away from the stairs for the time being, Peter walked them toward another corner of the room, feet padding across the checkered tile. 

The echo of drillbits and chatter from other areas of the house dulled as they rounded the staircase’s corner, heading toward the back rooms and the parlors. Matt tensed slightly in Peter’s arms, all too aware of the proximity to the seance room. He could feel it calling to him even now, a magnetic, uncomfortable pulsation that  _ bzz-bzz-bzz’ed _ under his skin. Peter’s hand rounded on his back, soothing. Stroking. The feeling of summons fell away, relieved by the physical. 

The tangible reality was here in Peter’s arms, not in the furniture or the sigils sketched therein to keep him caged.

“It’s okay. This place can’t hurt you. Can’t even have you now. If I’m gonna live forever, baby, it’s gonna be with you and Eddie,” Peter informed Matt softly. Matt began to slither free of his embrace, as satisfied as he could be from that, he supposed. His feet hit the floor and dust swirled around his ankles; a specter of time passed in its own right. 

He knew exactly where they were, of course - one hand rested on Peter’s chest before sliding down to cradle his hand instead, following the veins of his arm. The other hand found the smooth side of the piano, and a breath like mist off a mulling pot of wine blew more of the particles of ages past into the air. Peter sneezed into his shoulder, eyes watering, but held fast to Matt till the demon let go, sitting down at the piano tucked away behind the stairs.

“You give me music,” Matt said quietly. Pale fingers stretched and tapped the keys, descending to test the instrument. It was in need of a little tuning, but most likely only to his ear.  _ Osmosis. _ How many times had his own restless energy prowled the halls to follow the chords of sound? Lavish parties and rituals alike gave way to that universal language in the end. And in the dark nights when he felt well-fed, on the evenings he was at his most corporeal, he found, he too, could play. And so he would - chasing the ephemeral shadows in their passing, giving waltzing melodies to the myriad of ghosts. He’d heard their laughter, their relief, in their passing - sins forgotten and forgiven. 

Only he remained, by the end of most songs.

“I would like to do the same for you,” Matt said, and Peter, knees weak from the sheer sincerity of it all, settled slowly beside Matt on the bench. 

The music came naturally to him. He didn’t know where from - maybe someone else’s memory; a bond he’d already lost to the dissolution of the soul. A spirit that had passed on; passed on in turn the melody to Matt. Whatever the case, whether conjured from the air or somewhere else,  [ Matt let the notes fill the air with the same fluidity and focus he gave to everything else. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cv4VQ5r6g4Q)

Perhaps it was a part of his own making - or an aspect of his design the Devil himself thought appropriate to weave into him. Take his sight, give him everything else to lure the follies of men; making them slip more deeply into sin. Music, being that it was a language as intimate as that of food; or lust, or money...perhaps it was the mildest choice to express oneself. But it could lull one to sloth, listening for hours - the Sin of it being, maybe, a twisted form of adoration for the heavens above.

But Matt didn’t consider it that. He’d heard the way it encouraged other sins of indulgence and similar - but this felt more...like a veneration. He hesitated to say  _ Virtue. _ It was...something more, though. More, as his hands skimmed the keys and made the harmony rain, feet pressed to pedals for resonance he felt kicking back in his own chest…

Love. Love, he felt, more than anything, with Peter’s shoulder nudged up against his, and the tilted frame of the man who made him more real than this house and all its agonies ever could all but covering him. He felt sheltered by it - nurtured by it. By  _ him,  _ and all the hymns Peter packed onto tapes and records, loaded up to go with him wherever he chose to be. He was as old-fashioned and timeless as every corridor in this house, but so much more alive. So much kinder. 

By the decline of the song, Peter was humming along, though there were no words to go along with the symphony. Matt was smiling, though something felt off - his eyes were blazing again, like he’d had another drink from the den of the Lord who’d first brought him to this place. Or at least, brought him back again.

In all things human, there was something familiar - something that churned within him; like chewing on a bone. He couldn’t quite bite down to the marrow or break the tension, but with every plink and tinkle of the keys, Matt felt as though he was digging. Digging ever deeper, unearthing something that might never have come to life to begin with - but whether it was a body or a bulb planted in the earth, it was rising inside of him nonetheless. It glowed; and it felt  _ golden,  _ if he could just  _ imagine it,  _ not the heated crowns of those who Sinned in avarice and paid the eternal price to the repo-men of the underworld…

Gold like the sun when Spring came. Autumn and Winter loomed before them, the changes and the supposed deaths of the season, but where Peter was, Matt felt only the Springtime and the Summer. Things he’d yet to experience that he could recall, but in his mind’s eye, and through the dreams they shared, he felt it. 

As booming and powerful as a thunderclap before the sky opened up, or the first spark of a fire being lit. It all came alive inside of him as he felt the final notes fall away beneath his hands. 

After a moment of ringing silence, Peter slipped his fingers under Matt’s own and drew his knuckles up to kiss the backs of them, murmuring, “that was  _ beautiful. _ ” His voice was choked and Matt felt the echo - or the origin - of that pain [it had to be pain, because it hurt] in his own throat. He struggled to breathe, the taut sensation making it difficult to swallow. 

And that was when he realized he was crying. That’s what had been happening as he played, why his hands were shaking, why his face was so hot and damp. 

“Matty?” Peter pulled back and swiped away the moisture, voice scratchy. “Hey - you’re okay. You sure you don’t wanna go back to the car?” Matt shook his head, then leaned in to rest his brow against Peter’s, the other instinctively ducking down in order to reach him.

They sat together like that longer than Peter was usually capable of, and there, Matt felt the scrabbling, scratching presences of Murdock House begin to withdraw. Nothing but he and Peter remained; the comfort of his honey-whiskey thoughts on easier days. The slosh of a distant dock drifting on a lake, the strum of a far-off guitar. Sun beating down on a face to dry the sorrows away for good. 

Outside, the sun managed to cut through the fog; trickling in through the windows. The scent of the old house melded with that of a cider that couldn’t be located. The scent spilled through the narrow passageways and rose toward the roof, and though they didn’t know why, the demolition and repair crew all felt the ease that came from a period of mourning finally reaching its end.

There was much more work to be done, but for a moment, everything seemed to breathe the deep sigh of relief needed to  _ move on. _ The shawl of grief was shrugged from the shoulders of something unseen. Wispy laughter floated through the air, malt like liquor, creaky like wood.

The great clock in the back of the first floor turned its hand under the weary shroud of spiderwebs for the first time in decades, and at long last, lowly chimed the hour. 

_ Right on time. _


	13. A Little Hypnosis Never Hurt Nobody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> how to win over your significant other's significant other: an unexpected love story.

###  Eddie kept wanting to ask Matt about Murdock House, but things kept getting distractingly out of hand. 

There was the upkeep of their own property, an emergency leak repair at the neighbor’s, and Halloween candy shopping — all in one day. Or at least, Eddie felt it was one day. He hoped it was. He hadn’t been able to easily parse time lately, let alone keep track of its passing accurately. 

All he knew was that he was acutely and overwhelmingly exhausted at the end of the day — so much so that when the call came in regarding a charitable auction for the Murdock House sponsored by the local Philanthropic Historical Society, Eddie mumbled something incoherent about graciously accepting their offer and to coordinate with him via email to hash out details. It sounded like a good idea. No, they hadn’t caught him at a bad time, he was just...so  _ tired. _

He’d nodded off sitting up with the phone in hand for a good twenty minutes — or two; again, something was up with time itself — and awakened to find Matthew perched on his desk, tail flicking, nose nearly touching his own. 

Shooting upright in place, Eddie dug a hand blearily into the corner of an eye before setting his phone down, muttering, “how have we still not fitted you with a bell? Hello Matthew.” The golden eyes half-closed with dreamy amusement, and Matt uttered a low chuckle that was more of a purr. The sun caught the edge of his furry frame and gilded him, practically glittering.

“Hello Ed-die.”

“Glad you’re here,” Eddie said, once he’d caught his breath and encouraged his pulse to stop clambering around in his chest like a livin’ thing desperate to be loosed. “I need to talk to you about some stuff.”

“Need to talk to you about some stuff too, Eddie,” Matt agreed politely. Eddie flicked a brow toward the ceiling, one hand dragging over the shadow on his face. He should shave - he’d been so imbued with work and the craziness of living in a constant state of Halloween that he’d been a little neglectful lately. But usually when Matt popped up like this, his go-to was to take care of him first.

Same would’ve gone - and did often go - for Peter. It was just Eddie’s way.

“...Y’want noodles?” Eddie started to rise out of his chair. “I can go get started on — hey!” A clawed hand shoved him gently back into his seat, and, before Eddie could protest further, he found himself with Matt on his lap instead, straddling his thighs. The tail coiled around his waist, a lazy loop of sinuous warmth; a fuzzy lasso, before hooking them both closer together. Eddie blinked up at Matt —

And almost at once got lost to golden pleasure.

“I think I should talk first, don’t you?” Matt’s voice was so smooth Eddie wasn’t actually sure whether or not he was hearing it aloud or merely in his head. It didn’t matter all that much, as it turned out - Matt settled smoothly into place on his legs and lap, bathing Eddie in waves of honey that overruled anything else he had going on. 

The pen he’d grabbed to fidget with slipped from his fingers, which instead rose to run over Matt’s fuzzy thighs, fingers hooking across the lines of muscle below. Ember eyes narrowed; ginger lashes fluttered. Matt dragged his tongue across his teeth in a lazy sweep before slinking inward, keeping his eyes drilled to Eddie’s own; blues so eclipsed by black they were practically an oil spill across the sea. All of Eddie Brock burned beneath the wake of two spiraling suns. 

Belatedly, Eddie remembered to nod, and just beyond the gleaming beams, Eddie could make out the curve of a fanged smile as the demon dipped in toward him - like a beast to bate. “Y-yeah Matty, go for it…” His own voice sounded strange to him - softer than usual, the growl all but gone. It was still Eddie, though - it was the side of himself that he kept most well-guarded - a submissive, docile part of him that linked back to taking care of everyone else in his life save him at times.

The provider, the protector - the man who simply wanted to  _ please. _

“Good,” Matt breathed, and Eddie felt his pulse quicken in a pleasant way; a pulsation that wracked red-hot through his body, oozing purposeful pleasure as it went. He swallowed with difficulty, a talon tracing the curve of his neck. “So good for me, Eddie. You are listening, yes?” Eddie nodded again. “ _ Good _ ,” Matt repeated, and Eddie felt himself sink deeper;  _ deeper  _ into the leather chair. 

The closest thing Eddie could equate it to was enjoying a hot toddy to stave off a cold, coming out of the damp, drizzling rain. The Autumn day could give way to a little rush of a pocket dimension framed in ceramic, a cup shaped like a novelty leaf curled to hold liquid. Pier One was having a sale; sue him. The thoughts flitted by, coming and going as if buffeted by breezes he couldn’t quite feel. All Eddie could feel was the way the topaz haze cloaked his every attempt at reason.

_ I came to ask you what it is you want. _ The words bloomed in his head like dandelions, wishes blown away through the meadows of his mind. Matt was twining his arms around Eddie’s neck, clawed fingers curling in the nape of it, drawing talons up through the shorter, darker hair there. Eddie nodded dazedly, nose bumping Matt’s own, and the demon crinkled with mirth; chuckling silently. The ripples of that affection, however, flowed through Eddie - another splash of liquor on a cold day, another wave of warmth from the fireplace. Broad hands lifted to fan across Matt’s sides, kneading texture like silk strands; like the finest suede. He was a sensory dream in spices and sensations, and all Eddie could do was smile like a fool.

Because he  _ was one, _ his mind shouldered back against the pleasantry; futile. Eddie sighed, eyes half-closing, though Matt lifted his face by the chin to coax him upright; alert,  _ awake  _ again - as much as he could be when lost to the vortexes of chardonnay daydreams.

“You…” Eddie said sluggishly, the recollection that he’d been asked a question finally coming back to him now, “n’ Peter…” Matt nodded, a blurred trail of light following. Eddie; derailed for a moment by the firefly fanfare, smiled sleepily. “...safe,” he finished at long last, and Matt blinked, clawed fingers circling around to instead cradle Eddie’s sandpapery features, head cocked to one side.

_...Not really something I can work with. What do you desire? _ Matt tried again, his voice as patient and smooth as ever. Eddie wanted to drink his words - 

“Lick’em right out of your mouth,” he finished aloud, eyes rolling; fluttering. Matt cocked a brow and smirked, settling down on Eddie’s lap a little more purposefully than before. Eddie felt a sound rise in his chest, just as heat rose between his legs, and Matt’s tail tightened around his middle.

_ That’s more like it. Go on...tell me the rest. Need your energy, Eddie. Need your desire to make the deal. _

“Deal…?” Eddie stirred at that, trying to focus. Matt nuzzled under his chin, however, and sharp teeth grazed his neck. All thoughts shot to static, the feedback loop of which fed fire to his nerves. Eddie mouthed soundlessly for a moment, hands sliding down Matt’s back to the soft point above his tail. The demon  _ hissed,  _ back arching, and rutted against him - Eddie breaking the confines of the mesmerizing firelight in a rush of cool air. “What deal?”

“Im...immortality,” Matt muttered, shivering under the painstaking way Eddie drove his fingers across his lower back, right to the base of his tail. His nails lengthened; sharpened, then retracted - kneading as he drew Eddie close again, trying to catch his eye. “Peter...has it from me...you still... _ need it,  _ Ed-die,” and if that  _ need it  _ didn’t have a moan to it - Eddie shuddered, starting to speak again, but found himself silenced by the blistering stare. It scorched everything else from sight. A world on fire with Matt at the center.

_ Only way to keep you both safe. _ Matt’s insistence was a comfort; a reassuring balm. Eddie stared back at him, enchanted beyond measure - the concept of fulfilling that safety; that  _ desire  _ really all he could think of. His hands moved away from Matt’s lower back to instead haul him up better on thick thighs, rear held just tight enough. He roved as he processed; the thoughts taking forever to sink through the molasses melting across his brain. Once they made it, however, Eddie broke into a beatific smile.

“Yeah...yeah, okay, how’s - howzit work, Matty…?”

_ I kiss you,  _ Matt said-but-didn’t, nose nudging Eddie’s own. The other man’s mouth almost fell open at that; more than ready, but Matt lifted a finger to stay between them, pressed to Eddie’s full lips.  _ A little blood is drawn. You become mine. I am also yours. Peter’s first, but you can join us. Live forever without fear. _ The finger against his mouth shifted, and Eddie found himself gazing at a mostly-human Matt; all dark-haired and flush-faced beneath his freckles. Still the citrine stare remained, but the rest of him was mortalized, handsome made flesh. Eddie frowned a little in spite of that as Matt asked again,  _ but tell me what you desire, Eddie _ without moving the smirk off his mouth.

“...you - real you,” Eddie muttered, and Matt blinked - surprise on his face.  _ More. _ “Wanna - wanna see you. Wanna get to know everything about you, wh--what you like and how you like it. Wanna kiss you. Wanna do more’n that, wanna…” Eddie licked his lips and swore he felt the moisture sizzle away in the minute air between their mouths; evaporating before the furnace Matt possessed. 

“I...want you to plow me like I'm the last crop left to save your bankrupt farm,” Eddie blurted out in confidence, finally finding a foothold in the specifics. Matt recoiled slightly with a bolt of shock; the human glamour giving way once again to the demonic truth - and, once he’d caught himself there, Matt moved from startled to cunning, eyes narrowing. The devious grin returned, more diabolical than ever. 

“Gosh, you’re  _ so  _ handsome,” Eddie sighed; the wake of the expression’s transition rocking him to the core. He suddenly felt  _ full  _ of vigor; like he could run for miles or perform all his tasks or - his hips ticked restlessly, begging for friction - just  _ one  _ specific task, actually. 

“Thank you, Ed-die,” Matt purred, dipping in to rub his face on Eddie’s. Kisses of appreciation; nips all the way up to one flaming ear, followed - as Matt slid a hand down his front to press against the longing in Eddie’s lap between them. Eddie’s eyes rolled back entirely and he swore softly under his breath, the strength of Matt’s fingers rivaled only by the gentleness with which they worked him in a squeeze. 

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Eddie moaned.

“That can be arranged,” Matt murmured. The golden haze was still fading from Eddie’s focus, a polaroid developing in the dark behind his lids as Matt undid the zipper of his jeans to dip more directly across desire’s rising peak. Eddie swallowed, one hand lifting to hold Matt’s face, stammering,

“I s-still need to ask you stuff, Matty - we - can do this if you want -”

“If we both want,” Matt intercepted, a quirk to a brow all too human in gesture to be misinterpreted. Eddie shut his mouth [for once] for a second, then nodded.

“...I think we - I mean, I do also want, I just - if just a kiss does it, keeps...keeps all of us alive, and safe, forever, you don’t - have to go further if you don’t want, is - what I was trying to say.” Matt paused at that, his hands sliding back over Eddie’s thighs. Talons scraped denim and Matt cringed a little, the resulting texture much less pleasant.  _ Clothes.  _ Why people put up with them when they weren’t soft was beyond him. The steadiness of Eddie’s pulse, quick as it was with want, held fast - he told the truth. And, upon digging a little deeper, Matt found another - 

Eddie  **_loved_ ** him. 

A little differently than Peter, who said it every time he lavished Matt with affections - even when he didn’t say it aloud - but love nonetheless. Worry; manifesting in concerns about feeding him, protecting him, making him...happy, both because he was Peter’s and because…

“You lay claim to me, too,” Matt realized aloud, awed in spite of himself. Eddie’s skin went hot with humiliation under his hands, and Matt shook his head, fingers lifting to instead hold Eddie’s face, tough skin and satin fuzz. Eddie went still, stammering off into silence.

“You want me,” Matt murmured, thumbs thoughtful in their ministrations of mercy; stroking the shame away. Little by little, the other man bowed his head into the demon’s hands. “Not just for this. You want...me.”

“...I meant what I said,” Eddie murmured. As if Matt didn’t already know. “I wanna - get to know you. Know what’s important to you. Read with you. Poetry; cooking, our walks, everything, I just…” Eddie swallowed. “It’s - sudden, you’re suddenly here, and  _ nothing  _ makes sense, and I want - to know why time’s all fucked up and what’s the  _ deal  _ with Murdock House, and  _ you,  _ why you? But I also just…” Eddie drew in a breath, hands rising to cradle the backs of Matt’s own.

“I want you to stay.  _ Please  _ stay, Matt. Not just for Peter, but - I want to...be here too, you know? All of us. It just - I know I’m a flighty bastard who’s scared of his own shadow, but not of you. Not anymore, and I can’t imagine you not being here, so if you’ll have me, I’ll join you both and--” his words got lost with the ferocity in which Matt dove against his mouth.

Their kiss was a roaring inferno as Matt’s forked tongue unfurled into Eddie’s maw, consuming every sweet word like a match to liqueur. Eddie gasped, rising backwards in his chair, one strong hand against Matt’s back to support him, the other clawing its way to the back of his head, hauling him in. Matt plunged against him and Eddie tasted blood; followed by something that was flavored more like Fireball - bittersweet, nostalgic, snuck between classes - as the pact sealed itself in a power greater than even Hell could most likely contend with.

Matt broke away from him, but not too far - licking the copper-salt wound closed with a rake of his healing tongue. Eddie, careening closer again, kissed the corner of Matt’s mouth, his jaw, his cheek, and the place where his throat vibrated with delight. The purring sound was a welcome thing. All of this, Eddie realized, was a welcome thing.  _ Trick  _ **_and_ ** _ treat. _

But the real trick was the accomplishment of knowing what one wanted, surely. 

Eddie wanted him. Matt couldn’t wrap his head around it. It wasn’t just the typical desire, and so on, it was - him. Eddie liked his antics; being spooked by him, their reading sessions - liked holding his hand, kissing the top of his head, stroking his fur while he watched TV or nodded off on the couch. A hundred million little things that amounted to so much - minutiae that became a mountain. Lust he understood.

Love was new to Matt, and to receive it in more than one place - baffled him. 

He couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

“You still want me to...what was it?” Matt’s voice was low; thrumming with mischief. “‘Plow you like you’re the last crop left to save my bankrupt farm’?” The blush that fired to life under Matt’s fingers was lethal. Eddie groaned. 

“Don’t - yeah, okay, so - that, for sure, if you still wanna, I know I wanna, but I also never wanna say those words again. I - gotta ask you stuff, too. About the - about everything. Need answers, Matty...”

“Later,” Matt suggested, and laid flush against Eddie’s chest, tongue sliding slowly back into his mouth. The messy, wet sound of Eddie’s gasp, followed by the sinuous enveloping of flesh sent a sparkling shiver down his spine. Eddie ran his hands up through the ridge that stood on-end; dark streak deftly ruffled and tugged on.

“Later,” he agreed hoarsely; distracted from his doubts, as Matt smirked contentedly against the heat of his mouth.


	14. An Unexpected Visitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you can't solve a paranormal, supernatural, preternatural mystery all on your own. And that's okay.

###  Later turned out to be at the dinner table post fugue of fancy, over bowls of pho he’d prepared once he could see straight again.

Sealing a pact with a demon was...not something to write home to the folks about. But luckily, the only person he had to tell [or rather, preferably,  _ not  _ tell] was Peter - who seemed to be sitting on a secret of his own, impishness in his leafy-hazel eyes as he blew the steam off his bowl. 

“You two have a good afternoon while I napped?” Eddie nearly upended his supper as Matt continued to pick apart the components of the pho, slurping noodles with contented abandon. Eddie tugged the shirt he’d thrown on - the only turtleneck he owned, blessedly - and shrugged, committed to studying the contents of his bowl. Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie caught Peter pouting before he downed a sip of lemonade.

“Fine, don’t tell me anything. But I thought as husbands we told each other  _ everything. _ ”

“Don’t you start,” Eddie muttered, cheeks flaming. He stirred his pho, staring down at his reflection in the oily surface. “I just - we got to - we sealed the deal, okay? The...immortality bond.”  _ Several times over,  _ he didn’t add. Matt, perched on his chair with his legs outstretched, flexing his feet, smiled slyly - golden eyes half-lidded with contentment. 

“Awww, Matty!” Peter exclaimed, one hand lunging out to scritch under Matt’s chin. The demon tipped his head back to give Peter better access, chirping good-naturedly. “We’re all immortal now! You’re so talented.” Eddie mouthed  _ is it a talent?  _ To himself - but shrugged, supposing it had to be. It came naturally and nobody else he knew could do it. And if someone had asked the man six weeks ago [or thereabouts? He really had lost count] if he thought this would be his life, well -

He wouldn’t have believed it in the slightest. 

“Look, even if that’s true -” Matt’s ear flicked his way and Eddie raised his voice a little, “ _ even so,  _ I just think we have some other problems to consider. Like - Peter. What day is it?” Peter wasn’t even listening, too busy cooing and scruffing up Matt’s face with both hands now, tousling him adoringly. Eddie sighed, fingers curling back into fists as he sat back in his seat. “Pete.” No response - they’d fallen silent; into some unspoken reverie, nose-to-nose at the table, with the long-legged of the two nearly out of his seat from how far he had to lean. “ _ Peter. _ ”

“He says you guys did it on the ceiling, huh?” Peter asked mildly, picking his head up from where he’d been slouched in to snuggle Matt. Eddie’s face went beetroot-red and the demon’s tail swished, a chuckle bubbling up out of his chest. 

“... _ MAYBE _ . I don't kiss and tell. Though apparently that rule only applies to me,” Eddie groused, looking for something to swat either of them with. Matt grinned over his shoulder at Eddie despite the glare he received - if anything, he basked in the heat of it, a sun lamp for a rose.

Peter adopted a look that was in infamy in their friends’ group: the Face. The Face consisted of a beguiling shimmer in eyes like mossy bark, the  _ faintest  _ of wobbles to the bottom lip, and an overall appearance of a puppy left out in the rain. Eddie watched the transition from vaguely pouty to the Face and sighed. A deep, unending sigh that all but deflated his bones with the impact of it. 

“ _ Not  _ the Face.” But it was as irresistible as ever, and Peter was as persistent in his quivering, sniffling put-on act as always. Sometimes it truly wasn’t an act - there’d been incidents Eddie had to make it up to him tenfold because he simply wouldn’t stop sulking, but - this time was more teasing than trouble. Still - better to ensure the mischievous twinkle in Peter’s eye didn’t turn into a flash of lightning.

“...I asked him to plow me like a field,” Eddie admitted, and Peter’s eyes rounded - the sturgeon slope of his mouth bowing up and barely catching a laugh behind his lips. “And, later, rail me like the last Amtrak making up for lost time. Are you both satisfied now?” Fifty shades of red later and Eddie’d fessed up, glowering at Peter as if daring him to say something. Matt, nonchalant [if a little sly] continued to slurp his noodles, just about done in the time it took Eddie to round the bases and head home with the news. 

[Eddie scrupulously left out the part where his legs; shaking, had pressed against Matt’s sides, and how  _ good  _ Matt had felt inside of him, the plaster at his back positively cold to the sinuous heat Matt brought with him. Or how Matt’s teeth and tongue had fixed his thighs with bruises he asked to keep - Matt sucking pleasant little claims to his skin there and over his neck he’d been told would heal by morning, but - he could feel them even now, just as he could feel how raw his voice was from all but shouting Matt’s name. And there’d been  _ fire. _ Slick, tickling tongues of flame. And -  _ right _ .]

Back to business.

“ _ Wow,  _ Eddie,” Peter quipped, smile almost as impish as the actual imp sitting at the table between them, “how come you’ve never said that to me?”

“It’s true,” Matt said lightly, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “It is wasted on me. I don’t even know what an Am-Trak is.” Peter dipped in to nuzzle Matt, nose-to-nose, whispering about how he “ _ got all the dirty secrets out of him, didn’t you, you lil devil _ …” 

“You would hate the train,” Eddie said automatically, one hand ruffling Matt’s dark hair. To Peter, he added, “I get  _ EMBARRASSED _ , Peter. But hey, sure. Here’s one for you…” Eddie cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet Peter’s gaze. “I want you to log me like you’re a lumberjack on a tight deadline with a high quota. Happy now?” Gleeful giggling followed.

“Yes. I am. You should whip these out more often, just like your —” Eddie brought a hand up to cover Peter’s mouth, ignoring the way he licked and gnawed on it to try and get him to leave off.

“Gross,” Eddie said without any venom behind it whatsoever, “But fine. Fine! Yeah, Peter. I'll do that. Maybe next time it can be all of us." And then realizing what he's saying, Eddie gently peeled his fingers off Peter's mouth, sitting back in a daze. "... _ all _ of us..."

“I’ll rail you any time you like, Ed-die,” Matt offered politely. Almost the color of a cherry by this point, Eddie simply ran a hand over his face as Peter lit up like he’d just been informed they were all going to Disney.

“ _ All of us, _ ” he said dreamily, looking from Eddie to Matt - who promptly abandoned his seat to climb onto Peter’s lap instead, snuggling up under his chin. Hoarse titters followed, Peter ruffling Matt’s hair and his fur alike, beaming down at him. Eddie watched for a moment at arm’s length, the feeling of comfort settling where unease previously lived. If their house was to be haunted, if they were hexed in some way, it couldn’t have all been bad. Not with the sound of Peter’s joy, and not with the amplification of said joy through thunderous purring. Eddie stood, gathering the finished dishes, and leaned in to kiss both of them on the head, sealing a different kind of deal.

“Yeah,” Eddie said, “all of us.” It was as real and sure as the dual grins he got as he headed for the sink. “But we do need to talk about what’s going on. Matt, you said we could later - “ Eddie looked back at the two at the table, beginning to run the water and suds over the empty bowls. “Later is now, okay? I think it’s high time you told us what you know.”

The lights flickered as Matt opened his mouth to speak, and, at once, it was as if the air briefly left the room. One clawed hand shot protectively over Peter’s chest, Matt perching on his thighs, ears up more than usual. Nothing other than that happened - both humans watched their demon with concern as he half-sank back onto Peter’s lap, studying the abyss of the shadows in the room with anything other than his eyes. Swallowing, tail lashing, Matt tried to pull it all back.  _ No intruders. _

Not yet, anyway.

“Not sure, Ed-die,” Matt muttered, head turning back towards the man currently doing the dishes, “things changed on October 23rd.” Eddie glanced up at the calendar, brows furrowing. It read  **Oct. 24th, 2020.** Head cocked to one side, he shrugged with his mouth, glancing back down into the bubbles popping in the sink under the hissing stream.

“So - yesterday?”

“...Yes,” Matt said, but the hesitation was obvious. Eddie snapped the water off and turned around, damp hands folding over his arms.

“Okay, see - that’s the shit that worries me. Why are we losing time? Is it the house? Murdock House?”  _ Is it you? _ He didn’t add - Matt’s face flickering with hurt nonetheless, and Eddie immediately regretted it. Of course he knew, in his own way - not only through his senses, or his powers, but - Matt wasn’t a fool. And Eddie didn’t blame him, per se, he just - wanted to know what the Devil was going on.

“I...am not sure,” Matt said slowly, the hand not still clinging to Peter’s chest outstretched to Eddie, imploring. “But I am trying to understand. I remember - some things...about where I was. The house, and what it all means...but…” Peter and he turned toward one another simultaneously, nose-to-nose again, and Matt’s voice softened further. Lowered. “It’s hard to think about,” he murmured, “when everything real is right here.” His fingers tapped Peter’s chest for emphasis, and Peter curled his own hand around Matt’s, drawing it up to his lips.

“You’re safe, though,” Peter reminded him quietly, gaze earnest as his voice, “you know that, right, Matty? Nothing that’s happening is something we can’t deal with. Right, Eddie?” His eyes ticked his husband’s way and Eddie, arms still folded, tensely standing by the kitchen sink, waited only a beat before nodding. A little. Just  _ enough. _

“He’s right, Matthew,” Eddie said - always one to lengthen the name despite knowing that wasn’t it, for whatever reason, “you protect us, we protect you. That’s how this works. Might all - allegedly - be immortal now, but…”

“You  _ are  _ immortal,” Matt insisted, brow furrowing. From outside, a cat yowled, and the hair on the back of Eddie’s neck stood to attention. Peter held Matt a little bit closer as the talons on his torso extended; purposefully-guarded. Matt, who’d swung in the direction of the sound, bared his teeth a bit, apparently more on-edge than ever. 

“Then why don’t I feel any different? That’s one question,” Eddie said, trying to draw Matt’s attention back to the moment. The current in the air felt charged; now - almost as if a thunderstorm was building. It didn’t feel like Matt; all cinder-smoke and sweetness - though, like it did in times of duress they’d seen [smelled] previously, his scent was shifting. It was more brimstone and bonfire presently; something nastier than his usual incense and spices. Smoke seeped between his pointy teeth as if the furnace inside of him was being fed too much; too fast. 

“Matt?” Peter wheedled from beneath him, gently prying the claws off his shirt. Fabric tore, fraying from the extraction. “Come on, baby. Let’s have some dessert, we don’t have to talk about this right now.”

“We don’t?” Eddie’s voice pitched up on the last word, and Peter shot him a  _ seriously? _ look, head motioning to Matt. The demon, dismayed to find Peter’s shirt ribboned beneath him, slithered slowly off of Peter’s lap. 

“...I’m sorry, Pe-ter, I didn’t mean to…”

“I know, I know - it’s just an old shirt anyhow,” Peter brushed the concerns away, beginning to get up from his seat. Eddie ground his teeth, exasperated with the lack of answers. There was a thumping noise somewhere nearby, and all three men swung toward the door. Silence followed.

“I just...don’t think we have all the answers, obviously, and I wanna know what it is we’re all dealing with. Matt, if you won’t - or  _ can’t  _ \- talk about it, I understand, but you can’t blame me for tryin’,” Eddie said, eyes still watchful on the front door. Matt swished his tail again; the comma of crimson catching his attention. 

“Tell me what changed yesterday. What was so significant?”

“On the 23rd,” Matt said, sidestepping the  _ yesterday  _ in favor of the exact, “I...cried.” Peter and Eddie both glanced his way again, finally distracted enough to look away from the door. Shoulders like twin mesas rose and fell; the earthen hue sending a wave of clove and coriander into the air; the sourer smells dissipating somewhat. “It has not happened before. First time.”

“...you’d never cried before?” Peter’s voice cracked a little; concern escaping through the shattered sentiment. “Baby...I didn’t know that.” Matt lowered his head, one clawed hand scratching the back of his neck.

“Not built for crying,” he muttered, brow furrowing under his horns. “Was not even sure I knew how, but...it felt - good. A release. Different than the usual. The passion,” he added pointedly, a faint half-smile tugging at the side of his mouth. “Made me feel…”

“Human?” Peter asked - or rather, finished the thought, because Matt’s expression shifted to one of surprise - then understanding - landing on something without a name. It was as adoring as it was petrified; terror and hope intermingling. Little fangs poked over his bottom lip as he bit down in consideration, the nod a slow one this time. Peter mirrored him, synchronous and contemplative. Eddie stared between them, more confused than ever.

“So - what’s  _ that  _ mean?”

“It means,” came a voice through the front door that none of them recognized, “we’re in the right place.”

At once, Matt was on the back of the couch, all his hair on end, teeth showing. Eddie grabbed the bat that lay beside the door and stepped away from the threshold, wielding his weapon of choice. Peter, unsure of what to do [after emitting a noise he wasn’t proud of; particularly] put up his dukes and stepped in front of Matthew - who promptly shoved him over the back of the couch with his tail.

“Hey--!”

“Stay down,” Matt said, and Peter; now prone on the sofa, pouted - but did as he was told, one hand wrapped around Matt’s tail when it swished back into purview. Just for safekeeping. To reassure. 

“Who’s there?” Eddie barked, bat still upheld. 

“People who can help,” said a different voice - followed by a soft mutter. “Jessica  _ why  _ do you have to come in like a wrecking ball?”

“Because it gets shit  _ done, _ blondie,” groused the first voice - which rose up again, feigning cheeriness, “yes - she’s right. We can totally assist in all your Satanic needs.” The voice dropped again, happiness sapped away. “Better?”

“No,” sighed the second voice. “Listen - we’re friends. May we come in? We mean you no harm. And we come unarmed.”

“That’s not exactly t--”

“We are not here to hurt you,” the second voice emphasized; just a little louder. Loud enough for the dog next door to start barking. “Dammit.”

“Okay - Okay, just. Gimme a sec. You can come in, just--”

“Perfect,” said the first voice - and Eddie watched as the chain lock and the deadbolt undid themselves, followed by the knob popping open of its own accord.

“Holy fucking shit,” Eddie hissed, staggering rapidly back a foot or two to add distance between himself and whatever hell awaited them beyond the threshold.

Standing there; fog pouring in from the street, backlit by the lamps of the early evening, was a woman with strawberry-gold hair, dressed in a cloak of crushed velvet the color of plums. It draped over her long green skirts; her off-white blouse that hung off her shoulders, and the bodice around her waist of black and gold; over which were strung a purse and numerous baubles. She looked like something out of a renaissance faire; the hood around her face casting it into soft; shadowy relief - igniting eyes the color of the sea.

Eyes Eddie swore; for a second, he’d seen before. Quite recently.

She started to smile and open her mouth, but from around her left wedged a woman in black, gray, and purple - scarf tucked under her leather jacket, unbound raven hair a frazzled mess around a face so sharp it could’ve cut the night itself. Alabaster and ebony, she greeted Eddie with a quick jut of her chin, wiping half-gloved hands off on her jeans before offering him one in greeting. “Sup.”

“Hi,” the first woman said sheepishly, elbowing the darker of the two with a pained smile. “Sorry, she’s just - excited. I think we both are. Well - all are.”

Eddie jumped damn near to the ceiling again as he felt two furry little bodies twine around his ankles. At his feet were a couple of cats; one long-furred and snowy-white, with knowing bright blue eyes and a cunning look to its face. The other, more tawny, twined around his leg before moseying toward the sofa. Matt puffed up still further, making sounds like nothing Eddie or Peter had ever heard before - halfway between unholy and Deeply Unimpressed. Annoyance shifted his scent again, this time to something of a charcoal and hot asphalt. Eddie almost gagged.

“Nice digs,” the dark-haired woman remarked as she shouldered her way into his abode. Eddie’s hands loosened on his bat - then tightened again as he swung around toward his new guests; glowering. “Expensive. You guys must do well for yourselves.”

“Who the fuck’re you?” Eddie asked sharply - Peter sitting up to peer over the couch with curious eyes, releasing Matt’s tail to reach for one of the cats pacing toward them on the floor. The golden woman, clutching a broom - of all things - followed her predecessor over the entrance, the door swinging shut behind her as if the night winds were some enchanted butler. One hand smoothly stroked back the cloak from her brow, and the renaissance lady - offering a small wave to the irritable demon and his nonplussed companion on the sofa - cleared her throat.

“We’re witches,” the dark-haired woman cut in, once again stepping all over the other woman’s efforts [judging by the look on her face, at any rate], “and we’ve come to meet your demon.” Matt’s snarling ceased, fur laying flat, before he slunk slightly backwards, all but covering Peter with his body. Wide eyes like harvest moons peered off into the gloom. His senses told him one woman smelled of milk and lavender - with kind willowy hands and many materials all woven together around her. The other reeked of ethanol and absinthe; star anise and leather. She moved heavier, as if she dragged the great weight of the world behind her despite her petite size.

“...you have found me,” Matt said warily, blinking into the fiery gloom. “My name is Matt.” There was a shocked pause as the two women looked at each other.

“...I’m Karen,” said the one dressed for 1643, “and this is Jessica. She’s right - we are witches…” she met Peter’s gaze directly, then Eddie’s.

“And we might have the answers you’re looking for.”


	15. Chai, Chai Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little practice with a coven of witches - and a twist.

###  Eddie made tea. What else could he do?

There were witches in his living room talking to his husband and his husband’s partner; the demon in rust and sienna who kept rubbing his cheek on the lily-white hands of one of the guests. Karen in particular seemed fond of him, her fingers fluffing the sides of his face and scritching with nails of matte mauve. Matt, though hesitant at first, now leaned into the touches with profuse adoration - his ears laid back and his tail lazily swooping to-and-fro across the floor. One of the cats batted at it as it curved, the other laying nearby with a judgmental expression on its face - so a standard cat face, Eddie assumed.

It was all surreal. As ever, the things in his life simply didn’t feel normal. And he doubted they ever would again, all things considered.

“Oh - thank you.” Karen smiled warmly, accepting the tea Eddie brought her - in a mug shaped like a small gourd, no less. Jessica declined tea - “unless you’re gonna put whiskey in it” - and sat precariously on the edge of the ottoman, staring daggers at Karen and Matt. Peter, munching on maple cookies, glanced between everyone - the silence that had fallen one he simply had to kick up like the fallen leaves.

“So you guys are witches? Do you know your Hogwarts Houses?”

“Hogwarts isn’t  _ real, _ ” Jessica said flatly, and Peter deflated under the laserlike stare. “But if it was I’d be Ravenclaw. Obviously.” Peter lit back up and straightened in place, swiveling to beam at Eddie. Freeing a hand from his earthen mug, Eddie stroked a few crumbs off Peter’s cheek, letting him lean into his palm.

“Isn’t this cool?  _ Real  _ witches,” Peter stage-whispered, as if the girls weren’t actually a mere foot away from them. “Real witches right before Halloween.”

“Pete, it’s been ‘right before Halloween’ for like a month now,” Eddie shot back quietly. “And why is that, exactly?” Raising his head and his voice, Eddie dropped his hand back to his mug and tapped restlessly against the pottery. Karen’s sea glass eyes shifted skyward; contemplatively, as she sipped from the steaming sugar-pumpkin in her hands.

“Well,” she said slowly, lowering the cup, “there are pockets of this world that we’ve found exist outside the norms of reality.”

“Murdock House was one such pocket,” Jessica noted, her dark eyes boring holes in Eddie in particular. Matt snuggled closer to Karen after a moment, timidly resting his chin on her shoulder. Her fingers rubbed through his dark hair, kneading his scalp, and the demon’s golden eyes slid shut with contentment. Peter felt a little pang of jealousy - that was  _ his  _ job - but, more distractingly, he felt the fingers’ ghostly glide through his hair, too - a sensation so tender and alluring he couldn’t help but let his eyes flutter shut; his head loll back, and his foot beat restlessly against the air.

Eddie watched it all happen; distantly nonplussed, and took a long pull from the oolong in his cup. Whiskey didn’t exactly sound like a bad idea right now.

“As far as we can discern, it was erected on what’s colloquially known as a ‘Hellmouth’,” Karen explained, the fingers of the hand not occupied with her lavender-chamomile tea stroking Matt’s cheek. Topaz eyes fluttered back open, though all they saw was the faint outline in ripples of burgundy that was Karen - Page, as she’d told them. Karen Page, Jessica Jones, and the cats Felicia and Trish -  _ weirdly human names _ , Eddie’d thought, but kept that notion to himself. The last thing he wanted was to get turned into a newt for being mouthy.

“What that means is that anything that happened to, in, or around the house and its property directly fed into the energy that Hell desires. It’s a gateway that goes both ways, which explains how you ended up there…” Karen hesitated, glancing back at Matt, who was all but dozing off on her shoulder. “Matt.” He perked up again, the feline flicker of his gaze igniting back to life. 

“How is it you came by your name?”

“Hey - wait, go back to my question,” Eddie protested, but Matt, stirred from his slumber, shook his fur, the ruff on his back rustling like the blowing of foliage. 

“Pe-ter named me,” he nodded in Peter’s general direction, the taller of the two twiddling his fingers at the two witches watching. Karen returned to studying Matt, tugging on his bottom lip a little to better see his teeth. For whatever reason, he stayed docile for that - the little baring of fang nothing more than a flash of sharklike edges, sharp incisors, and a little  _ blep  _ of tongue. Karen smiled to herself.

“And in naming you, he gave you a doorway,” she said matter-of-factly. “Your energies are connected, which I’m sure you’ve already figured out.” Peter winked, clicked his tongue, and pointed a finger at Karen - who flashed him a bemused smile in return. Setting the tea aside - where it hung suspended in the air; rotating slowly -  _ “whoa,” _ Peter whispered, eyes round - Karen folded her fingers to either side of Matt’s face, kneeling in front of him.

“Your bond will only get stronger; no doubt, the longer Matt’s a part of this world,” Karen continued calmly, thumbs stroking Matt’s cheeks. The demon blinked, one ear twitching, and huffed through his nose. 

“Well - we were planning on forever,” Peter said carefully. Jessica snorted, and Karen snapped her head around to look at her friend, then returned to staring at the boys. 

“Forever?” She asked, brows furrowing. Synchronously, three heads bobbed affirmative. “Huh,” she muttered, her gaze once more returning to Matt. “Normally, a demon has a purpose to serve. Yours, if I’m not mistaken - wait, let me see here…” She inhaled, snuffling his face in the process - which brought a snort of mirth out of Matt that seemed to surprise even him - then picked up his tail, turning it over in her hands. Following that, she tugged [gently] on an ear, then lifted one of his hands, thumb rubbing up the center - then back down to his wrist. 

“What are you -” Matt started to ask; still a little amused - then felt a rush of pleasure wash through him, scents of spices flooding through the air. Rose-cut coriander mixed with incense smoke and ginger; cinnamon-sugar all. Eddie felt the mug in his hands slip a little from his fingers, and Peter [who’d begun to stand up to get more cookies] felt his knees give out to the point where he had to sit back down on the couch. Chrysanthemum pink tinted Karen’s cheeks as she drew her finger back, leaving Matt to curl his clawed digits closer to himself, making a little fist.

“Bet you didn’t know you could do that,” Karen said quietly - and Matt shook his head, the thick fog of pheromones in the room making his head swim. He could taste Eddie and Peter’s desire so prominently - the flood of their wants flowing through his mind. How Peter wanted nothing more than for Matt to pin him to the wall and have his way with him, or how Eddie wanted to make love to them both on the floor in front of the fireplace on the softest of rugs. Matt swallowed, lashes fluttering. 

“You have incuban tendencies,” Karen said matter-of-factly, and all three men turned toward her with confusion. “Incubus; succubus - sort of a spirit or imp of desire; lust. Temptation. They get you to do things you normally wouldn’t - but they can’t act on desires that aren’t already there,” she added. Matt leaned away from her when her hand came close this time, and Karen abided by his wishes, hands instead returning to fold in her lap. “My best guess is that Hell released you up here by means of some summons - incubi and succubi were popular in local lore anywhere from the 1600’s to the 1800’s, easily. And they gained popular again in the late 90’s.”

“And you know this because…” Eddie dramatically hedged, and Karen shot him a Look that could’ve melted a glacier.

“I read,” she said flatly, “so you can drop the insinuation that I’m some kind of immortal.”

“To be fair, you’re dressed the part,” Peter pointed out. Karen glanced down at her outfit, then pouted, fidgeting with the strands of her cloak. 

“I had a birthday party before this,” she mumbled. “My point is, time moves differently in Hell. They make it stretch for centuries down there, in theory, to enhance the torture. It makes sense that the slowdown trickles out through the Hellmouth - it’s also why the rate of decay on the property is somewhat-less than it ought to be.” Matt furrowed his brow, one hand reaching up to rub an ear. It tingled and buzzed as if someone was trying to whisper into it. Shrugging the shadow off, he dragged his knees up to his chest to embrace those instead. 

“So when you took a piece of Hell home, so to speak, your lives began to change similarly. Matt’s...more powerful than he knows,” Karen cautioned, looking between the humans and their demon yet again. “Prior to this, he existed on a separate plane. The Umbral Plane, or Infernal Plane. We’re still not sure.”

“We’re looking into it,” Jess cut in, and Karen nodded, pursing her lips. “It’s just - messy. All of it’s messy, and no two demons are the same. Like - whoever heard of a fuzzy-wuzzy sugar-demon before?”

“Sugar-demon is a cute nickname,” Peter pointed out, and a half-smile tugged at the corner of Matt’s mouth. Jessica, deadpan, slid off the ottoman, stretching.

“Most demons are supposed to drive souls into the arms of Hell’s armies, or so we’ve been told.”  _ Purpose,  _ Matt’s memory breathed in Elektra’s voice. His hair stood on end, talons tightening on his legs - till Karen, reaching out again, stole one set of fingers away, cradling him loose enough to tug free if he chose to. 

“But this is the first time in our collective memories that we know of a demon who makes the choice to stay above - if he returned to Hell now, it’d basically be a reset to his corporeal form,” Karen said softly. She squeezed Matt’s hand, and he squeezed back after a beat, tail furling tightly around his ankles. 

“You make him want to stay,” Karen told Peter directly, still clinging to Matt. A wave of lavender and sweet cream stole across Matt; blanketing him. The temperature rising under his skin began to cool; trickles of hissing steam and smoke escaping intermittently from nowhere in particular. The room was full of pleasant smells now, but nothing overwhelming. Nothing powerful enough to be distracting for the time being.

“That changes everything, but we aren’t entirely sure how yet,” Jess muttered.

“You said you had answers,” Eddie countered under his breath - and Jessica shot him a withering stare, arms folding over her leathery sleeves.

“And we do. Did you miss the part where time gets fucked up because Hell is eternity? Fuck. Thank the goddess you’re pretty.”

“What goddess?” Peter asked, arms sprawled over the back of the couch, chin atop them. Karen smiled faintly his way, turning Matt’s hands over in her own. 

“Any number of them, really. We’re a coven that’s - for the most part - looking into the feminine and the divine. Albeit sometimes our interactions with the supernatural and spiritual take us elsewhere.” She stroked Matt’s fingers, then, little by little, leaned in to whisper to him. “There is more I can show you. I’m sorry I didn’t ask before doing that last bit first, but - if you’d like to know...I just need to ask  _ you -  _ what is it you want out of your reality?”

Matt had an answer right away - no hesitation intercepted his words.

“Protect. Help. To not destroy. To  _ not ruin. _ ” His jaw set, and, rolling his shoulders back with a little shimmy of fluff, Matt sighed. “It’s - hard. Energy, it’s...difficult.” 

“Be patient with yourself,” Karen suggested quietly, “be understanding in the fact that it takes a while to be. You’re still changing. Where you came from, what you are - neither of those things matter as much as where you’re going and what you’re becoming. You’ve made your choices. Now I will show you how to act on them.”

“In a way that doesn’t blow up our house?” Eddie asked mildly. Or at least, he thought he was being mild. Both witches surveyed him with unimpressed expressions. 

“What part of him not wanting to ruin or destroy escaped you, out of curiosity?” Karen asked in the tone of a tennis commentator. Eddie’s mouth snapped shut and Peter stifled a giggle under his hand. Matt’s smile flickered back to life on his face, so Eddie deigned to let it all go. He’d come this far, after all - all of them had.

Inhaling slowly, Karen turned her hands over, seemingly to study Matt’s palms. “In the lines of your hands, I see pain.” Matt’s fingers flinched, but held steady as Karen stooped over, golden tresses drifting across auburn fur. “But I see hope, too. Joy. Acceptance. Curiosity…” she fanned their hands flush together, drawing them upright as she herself tipped back onto her knees; her heels. Matt sat up a little straighter with her, and around them, a swirl of golden light flew; pixie-esque in its happening. Peter popped upright, wide-eyed, and Eddie shifted closer to the sofa, mug lifting back to his mouth.

“You have the ability to heal,” Karen exclaimed, surprised. Matt blinked; equally shocked, and nodded to her. “That’s...almost unheard of. You’re sure you’ve always been a demon?”

“Pret-ty sure,” Matt replied slowly, brow quirking. Karen paused, her eyes shifting warily across Matt’s features.

“...You don’t remember - Hell’s tampered with your memories.”

“They do that,” Jessica said, with enough authority that it brought Eddie’s attention to her directly. The dark coat she wore pulled around the witch more securely, and she avoided Eddie’s piercing stare, one hand lifting to wave him away. 

Pulling Peter close with an arm around his shoulders, Eddie looped the digits Peter lifted to meet him with his own, the two lovers entangled; watching their third.  _ Their  _ third, Eddie noted to himself, still dazed from the impact of that. The golden glimmers were everywhere now; a pond in the air of flaking fragments; fractals suspended on unseen threads. Ghost-fires grew; blue-white in contrast, dipping around the two figures with their hands intertwined on the floor. There was a  [ hum ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHUuVaQh7-4) in the air that almost had words, something that pulled the light from the room to the spotlit focus of those situated in the center of the floor.

“What do you remember, Matt?” Karen asked softly. “Who were you before you had a name?”

“I...don’t know,” Matt said hoarsely, his voice a little weary. Karen bobbed her head, lips pressing together. Their hands swung in a slow rhythm, a hammock of flesh and fur, white and red.  _ Blood and bone,  _ Eddie thought distantly, something unholy, even in that. And yet as the snap and crackle of distant fires unseen persisted; so did the good burnt-wood smells, the promise of comforts. Eddie swayed a little, still wound around Peter, as the other man watched with avid eyes; the wispy flames and shimmering cascades sparkling into a vortex of saffron and sapphire. 

“That’s alright,” Karen told Matt softly, “that’s okay. What matters is that you’re here now. Do you know what you can do? Anything you want, with powers like yours, but you choose to be good. To your boys. Your humans. That alone is enough, Matt - you don’t have to try to be anything or anyone other than who you are, now…” In the midst of the twister that twinkled like a curtain of diamonds made energy, they rose - levitating off the floor with more ease and grace; graduality that Matt typically forewent in favor of launching off the ground in a fit of frenzy. He slowly exhaled - a stream of iridescent mist in its own right; white-blue like the hottest of flames. It washed over Karen and swooped to the floor through the funnel they now sat spinning in. 

Eddie, openmouthed, instinctively drew himself up onto the back of the sofa to crouch, still miraculously clutching his mug - and Peter, hauling him closer, clung for dear life - out of excitement, on his part. 

“ _ Look, _ ” Peter whispered unnecessarily, and Eddie, beyond bewildered, could only nod - their living room now a disco ball of dancing lights streaking across the walls and floor. 

As the cloud touched down, it rolled over the two cats lolling, unbothered, beneath it - and, with a sudden  _ whoosh  _ of motion, the felines were no more. Up rose two new women, bare and beautiful, surrounded by the waves of cerulean and canary-yellow. Eddie’s eyes rounded, then snapped away, and Peter emitted a gleeful  _ ohoho _ that was punctuated by an  _ oof  _ at the end from where Eddie lightly smacked him in the shoulder.

“Shirt - give -” Simultaneously [Eddie finally relinquishing his vice-grip on his mug to do so], the two men squirmed out of their flannels to offer to the woman nearest each of them. Peter, agape, offered his blue-and-brown garment to the woman with platinum-blonde hair and a sheepish expression; eyes even bluer than Karen’s own.

“Here y’go, ma’am…”

“Thanks,” she whispered, and burrowed promptly into the oversized garment. Eddie, on the opposite side, kept his eyes covered with one hand as he thrust the black-and-red at a snowy-haired woman with cunning, sharp teeth.

“Just - yeah, this is normal. Here.”

“Thanks, doll,” purred the lady - and like a magician’s knot trick, turned his flannel into a makeshift dress with a couple of quick maneuvers. 

Jessica, stone-still where she stood, could only mouth in shock - as the demon and the remaining witch lowered back to the floor, their hands still interlocked. Karen’s eyes fluttered back open as the humming stopped, and, rounding to look, froze as well. Matt, head bowed forward, seemed close to unconsciousness - Peter pulling himself up and over the back of the sofa to catch him before he could plop over onto the floor.

“Whoa!”

“Felicia,” Karen said shakily, getting to her feet, “and -  _ Trish, _ ” the latter of the two all but bolted on shaky legs to Karen’s side, the first engulfing Jessica in a hug that seemed to wake her to squirming, trying to claw her way free. 

“I thought we’d lost you for good,” Karen was saying tearfully - her forehead pressed to Trish’s own. The human formerly known as feline dipped a hand up against the back of Karen’s head, shoving back her cloak, and kissed her sweetly. Eddie and Peter, nonplussed, watched all of this from their seats on the sofa - Matt cradled in Peter’s arms for safekeeping. 

“You broke a spell,” Jessica explained distantly, her voice a little ragged. She sniffed, inhaling. “It’s, um - we’ve...thanks.”

Karen, eyes bright under a veil of emotions,  _ beamed  _ at Matt, half-asleep in Peter and Eddie’s embrace. “You  _ are  _ a force for good,” she told him warmly, “because you  _ choose  _ to be. Remember that, Matt.”

“I will,” he mumbled tiredly, head propped on Peter’s shoulder. Eddie looked around at the witches and their returned coven, a gaggle of limbs and excitement now cluttering up his home with more enigma and bafflement than ever. But…

There was something  _ wonderful  _ about it, too. Whether it was residual energy, or the fact that Matt began to purr, and purr, and  _ purr  _ in excess, he wasn’t sure - it was really something else. 

But like always, he had to ruin it - at least a little - by asking questions.

“So,” he said hoarsely when he remembered how to do so, “what happens now?” Four sets - make that five; and a demon too sleepy to turn his head - of eyes pinned themselves to him promptly. The lights of the apartment painstakingly wavered back to life, pressing back against the waves of shadows in the room.

“Now,” Karen said, her eyes bright and determined, “Matt can close the Mouth to Hell and continue to live the life he chooses to. Time realigns, and…” at that point, Karen hesitated, then pressed on:

“And maybe true love really does conquer all.”


	16. Awake, O Sleeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things begin to blur as renovations continue. An unexpected visitor with unfinished business appears.

###  That dramatic statement lingered long after the witches had departed [exchanging contact info with Peter and Eddie on their way out, of course]. 

Eddie had sat up a while after Peter and Matt retired to bed, his head in his hands and his eyes on a notebook. The witches had said a lot of things after Trish’s return - how she’d been cursed to that form for...a long time; and how her wife - Karen - had tried everything to free her, to no avail. Nothing but a demon intent on doing good, rather than harm, 

Apparently.

_ “You shouldn’t even be able to do that,” _ Jess had said.  _ “It’s unnatural.” _ Matt; shrinking back against Peter tiredly, could only shrug - words and energy depleted under the wake of something so pure. 

_ “In behaving in opposite action and reaction to your base nature; you are pulling a boulder uphill on your back, _ ” Trish informed him.  _ “Remember to stop. Take breaks. B--breathe. _ ” The last word had been punctuated by laughter as Karen clasped her face and pressed kisses into her cheeks till she could only smile. 

_ “What should we do about Murdock House?” _ Eddie’d asked them. The girls had all pinned him with incredulous stares.

_ “Burn it to the ground,” _ was Jessica’s automatic response - met with Felicia’s elbow.  _ “Oof. Okay. Don’t do that, then. _ ”

“ _ Purify the grounds. Take anything of value to Matt. Find the Hellmouth. Close it. Then…” _ Karen’s eyes lingered on Matt, whose face turned up toward her. A few milky fingers brushed the dark hair from his brow.

_ “He should be fine, _ ” she said - but she said it majorly to herself, as if trying to drum up some conviction. Something to her tone made Eddie’s blood run cold, and even now, hours later, he still stayed put, staring down at his notes in the semidarkness. Chilled to the bone in a way that not even the flannel - back around his shoulders after the ladies had been given spare garments otherwise [Trish in Peter’s sweats and one of his  _ Yeah, Baby! _ Shirts, which she found  _ thoroughly  _ amusing; Felicia in a black v-neck and lounge pants from Eddie he felt looked a thousand times better on her] - could contend with.

“Eddie?” He jumped and swore as Matt manifested beside him, little lamps aglow in the gloom. “You are not sleeping.”

“How’m I s’posed to sleep, Matty?” Eddie asked tiredly, one hand lifting to scrunch Matt’s hair, tousling the locks. The demon, well-fed on another helping of pho and dessert to follow after the coven had left, squinted sleepily at him - before nudging his palm his nose, nuzzling into its lines. Eddie, relenting, smoothed his hand over Matt’s face instead, worriedly chewing on his bottom lip. “Not only do I have to flip this house, I need to...purify it before doing so. Which - I’m trying to figure out how to do. They said -” he flipped back through his notes, “‘salt, candles, white sage burning’...and so on, standard stuff, from what I understand, but - it’s gotta go to auction on Halloween. Like this whole - scheme of the philanthropy unit, a-and I don’t even know what I’m doin’ fully yet, I’m just…” 

Matt’s hand lifted to press over his mouth, and Eddie stuttered off into silence. The yellow eyes warmed; comforted, and called him back to himself. To a center. To  _ home. _

“Come to bed,” Matt said quietly. “Leave the rest for tomorrow. Peter will drive. You can read on the way. Get supplies. Whatever else.” It was a lot of words at once, and Eddie, as usual, couldn’t be certain they were even spoken aloud at all. His smile flickered; shy and quiet, under Matt’s fingers - before he kissed the tips, the little granite-rough ridges of the pads. Matt chuckled in spite of himself and the hazy spell cleared before the sunnier day, the demon snuggling against his side to nudge him off the sofa and up to bed.

“You’ll be okay?” Eddie asked, “if I do that? Clear the house?” Matt hesitated, then nodded, butting his horned head gently against Eddie’s back.  _ A kid goat, _ Eddie thought, then reached back to rub between the horns.

“Always o-kay, Ed-die,” Matt mumbled, voice wobbly from the way he bumped closer to Eddie’s caresses, a rumble in the back of his throat.

“Fine,” Eddie murmured; acquiesing and pulling Matt close before scooping him up to carry him up the stairs; almost instinct by this point, “but if we end up bringing home more demons because _ I  _ fuck up,  _ that’s  _ on you.”

“No more demons,” Matt mumbled into Eddie’s shoulder, tucking himself close. His tail flicked, encircling Eddie’s thigh, legs around his middle. 

_ “Just me.” _

That turned out to not necessarily be true, of course. The ride up was uneventful, save for how motion-sick Eddie got from trying to read his notes in a moving vehicle. Peter’s driving, as usual, left something to be desired - while he was an expert in maneuvering, he was also prone to flooring the Milano with all the might he [and the little car that could] had, blasting his music and singing along. Matt had his head out the window for the majority of the journey, too, stuck out the passenger side with his face in the breeze, grinning from ear to ear. No doubt he’d startled a few of the people walking the back roads up to Murdock House, but hey.

It  _ was,  _ after all, almost Halloween.

“Rodney, Kenny - good to see ya,” Eddie greeted two workers as he walked up into the house - freshly power-washed, every alcove on the outside gleaming like fresh headstones on a lawn of mowed grasses and moss. The glistening edges of the property bore the glimmer of late-October dew just borderline to frost. The interior smelled of wood polish, sawdust, and charcoal. Matt sneezed a good fifteen minutes straight before scuttling off somewhere to rest for a while - once Peter had ensured his glamour was still intact, of course. A little more redheaded than usual, perhaps, but no worse for the wear otherwise.

“You know the plan?” Peter rolled his eyes, but grinned at Eddie good-naturedly, sweeping his toolbox up over his shoulder.

“‘Course I do, for the - nineteenth? Time?” Eddie made a face and nudged Peter’s side. “Oof. C’mon, I know, I know. You’re gonna go sage the entirety of the house; throw salt around, and...what? Pray? That’s safe for Matt, right?” 

“I don’t know what’s safe and what isn’t. For all I know, this could affect him miserably, so I’m just…” Eddie motioned with a hand, “gonna throw open all the windows and hope for the best, alright? We’ll keep moving him around if things get gnarly. But if you see somethin’, say somethin’, okay? Anything that looks...like a Hellmouth.”

“Which...would be…?” Peter’s brows rose and Eddie mimed a shrug, unsure. 

“I - was hoping for a Disney’s Haunted Mansion type of deal. Or Buffy. Something really obvious and cartoony and hopefully easily-defeated I don’t  _ know, _ Peter,” Eddie threw up his hands as Peter lost the war against smothering his laughter, hoarse titters following Eddie’s exasperation. 

“It’ll be okay,” Peter grinned, smacking a quick smooch against Eddie’s sweaty forehead. “Remember what the gals said. True love and all that.” Eddie bit his tongue, holding back a myriad of unacceptable responses. He swallowed bitterness, barbs, nerves, and excessive energy; forcing a smile to rise instead of bile. 

“Right. Of course. Because this is a fairytale and you’re the prince at the end of the story.”

“Cheesy,” Peter teased him, but his greenish eyes stayed softly fond. “I’ll get to work. We’re just about done - assessment starts today from the auctioneers and the philanthropists. They’ll do a walkthrough at four.”

“ _ Four? _ ” Eddie exclaimed, like he hadn’t been the one to book the appointment. Peter cocked a brow and nodded, beginning to swagger back, finger-gunning in Eddie’s general direction.

“Yep.” The  _ p  _ at the end popped significantly. “So we’d best get to work.”

Eddie, watching Peter saunter off; all but dancing, tossed out his arms in exasperation.

“You know, I really appreciate how much of this you take in stride, loverboy.” Peter’s fingers shot imaginary bullets at the ceiling as he sashayed down the hall, long legs swinging and toolbox clunking against his hip.

“Part’a my charm, babe!”

Shaking his head, Eddie rolled up the sleeves of his flannel and set to work.

Murdock House was not an easy foe to defeat - not by a longshot. The men on the crew had encountered all manner of mayhem in their manic efforts to fix the place up before the auction - suddenly so rapid in approach it seemed uncanny, but Eddie was just glad time itself seemed to be catching back up. Issues included anything from a toilet that gurgled like something rising from the dead on the second floor, an attic not accounted for in the schematics that pulled down via painted staircase. It was full of old, untouched books and antiques - dolls of all varieties, though the majority of which…

Seemed to have no eyes.

Eddie, so certain that this was the Hellmouth, had shooed his workers away and set up to salt and sage the room, throwing open the tiny windows to the outside - knocking down old bird-nests in the process. When a spider crawled out of one of the baby doll’s missing eyes, he’d damn near fainted - but that had been the only oddity up in that room full of nightmares, so he’d pressed on - back down to the third floor where servants used to stay, around corners and dipping into nooks. Onward, downward, all-around[ward], taking care to open windows and sage as he went, salting likewise.

Matt had tried to run the moment sage came near him - moving nervously from corner of the house to corner of the house in an effort to avoid the horrible stench that made his jaw seize up and his skin prickle unpleasantly. He’d puffed up internally; every hidden hair upright, and the feral instinct to flee nearly overrode anything else. When he’d told Eddie he’d be fine, he assumed it had to do with how much he’d...changed, recently. But some things were, on some level deeper than his assumptions, unfortunately...the same.

Peter, carefully collecting Matt from where he’d hidden himself under an old covered table, deigned it best to put Matt outside for the time being. “Once things clear up a bit,” he whispered, “you can come back, right? Right. You can sit outside and wait, I’ll just be...” 

But Matt had looked at him so pathetically in that moment that Peter took pity on him; deciding outdoor detailing could be effective, too. And so, attending to the places where the windows needed support, picking up weeds, and coming back to cuddle Matt whenever he got sad or shivery, Peter made it work. 

Hours ticked by - the rain came, and Peter and Matt retreated to the small gazebo in the back of the now-cleared garden, all manner of tangled vines and broken-down trellises now gone - replaced instead by the clear display of pumpkins awaiting carving; jack-o-lanterns to be. Peter split his snack mix with Matthew, the demon daintily picking out all the almonds to munch on while Peter busied himself with the sweet slivers of caramel and crisp flaky crackers. 

“Do you think you’ll miss it?” Peter asked eventually, watching the lights in the windows of the house come on as work continued. Matt, eyes closed, tucked his nose into the crook of Peter’s neck. The sweet-sharp scents returned to him, a comforting blanket in the chill of the late October weather.

“No, Pe-ter,” Matt decided at last, lips pursing. “I do not miss what was never mine.”

The only attachment the house still had to him sat gathering dust on its keys - the polished piano, no doubt already tagged for auction. Matt hesitated to mention it - lest Eddie fuss over finances and Peter immediately try to load the instrument into the back of their car that stank of exhaust and wearying rubber wheels. Moreover, Matt wasn’t sure anything was his to claim.

Hell had been his home more than Murdock House had been, and so - what would be the point? Better to let it all go. He hoped only that in closing the Hellmouth - even he didn’t know where it was; precisely - Elektra and other kin of the Underworld would leave him be. 

_ Hold tight to your love, _ Karen had told him, kissing his hands and blessing him in a way that didn’t hurt as a prayer might,  _ and don’t let go. Love is your door. Love is your gate. Remember that, Matt - you are who you choose to be, and you were chosen by love. _

That echo coaxed him closer still to Peter, and, drawing in a breath, Matt allowed the man who opened the door for him; who let him into life and reality so fully engulf him in a hug warmer than any home, safer than any house. 

And he’d guard that home he’d gotten with all his might.

Back inside the house, oblivious to the downpour and wherever Peter and Matt had gone off to, Eddie was in a frenzy, all but pulling up floorboards and foundation stones as he scoured the home from top to bottom. It was 3:45 or so when the first assessors arrived, shaking hands after shaking the damp from their umbrellas. The workers broke down for the day and began to disperse, Eddie taking up the opportunity to show folks around.

“Feel free to check out what’s on the table. And everywhere else,” Eddie joked - a run-of-the-mill jest he fell back on that typically panned out. As predicted, the stuffy suits all got a sensible chuckle out of that before moving throughout the floors of the house - all save one, who stayed behind, weathered hands on his cane and his sunken features thoughtful beneath their shades.

“Ah - sorry, you can go wherever, I’m just - wrapping stuff up,” Eddie explained, glancing up from his ledger after realizing the old man hadn’t moved. A snowy head tipped in acknowledgment before he moved closer, cane fanning out over the carpeted floor.

“A tour won’t do me much good,” the man said in a voice like bending reeds, “but I appreciate the offer, young man. I was hoping to speak with you directly. Or your colleagues.”

“Oh.” The penny dropped, and Eddie straightened like someone’d pulled a string on his back, apology in every iota of his being. “I - didn’t realize th- yeah, of course, I’m all ears. Which y’could - never mind actually. What -” Eddie crossed his arms, uncrossed them, then set a hand down on the table directly instead, sighing at himself. “What can I do for you, sir?”

“Call me Stick,” the old man said with a wry smile, nodding and lifting his cane for emphasis. Eddie’s ears burned with hot-coal ferocity, and, clearing his throat, he resisted the urge to offer a hand.

“Brock - Eddie Brock.”

“Figured,” Stick murmured, still faintly smirking. “Thanks for making the time to talk to me.” The longer he spoke, the more it sounded to Eddie like he was doing so through a great rustling of leaves or stirring of ash. There was something forced about his speech, and the strangest chill followed Eddie recognizing that. He wasn’t sure why, yet, but something told him to be alert.  _ En garde,  _ it told him. It hearkened back to the way Karen’s face had shifted when she looked back over her shoulder one last time the night before; delving out into the foggy evening.

_ “Once doors are open,” _ she’d said, looking not at Eddie, but at Matt beyond him,  _ “they want to stay that way. What you have - many will want it, too. Whatever follows you now follows the people you care about. Be careful.” _

_ You better be careful, too, now, Eddie. _

He snapped to attention, honing back in on Stick. “Sorry?”

“You on drugs, kid?” Stick asked mildly. Eddie scowled at that, arms finally finding a home over his chest after all as he slouched against the high cherrywood table beside himself.

“No, I’m not on - didn’t you have somethin’ you needed?” Stick nodded again, fingers curling like gnarled roots around the white-and-red cane between his fingers. Something in the withered knuckles seemed too taut; too strong - for a man of his age, he was ramrod straight, perfectly-poised. Almost militant, or martial. It just added another chiming bell to the alarms already going off in Eddie’s head.

“Let’s take a walk, shall we?” Stick asked. Eddie frowned, but stepped away from the table reluctantly after a moment, pacing after Stick as he started toward the stairs.

“I thought a tour wasn’t gonna make a difference.”

“I’d just rather stretch my legs,” Stick said with a shrug, and Eddie caught up with him as they began to ascend, the cane sweeping ahead of them with the eager sweep of a windshield wiper in a storm. It all but seemed to bat the shadows away; the lowering lights flickering from the force of the wind outside. Inside; Murdock House filled with the cozy scent of burning wood in various fireplaces; now fully-operational. The murmuring chatter of the assessors chased down the hallways as he and Stick headed toward the West Wing, the ashy man laying a hand on his forearm before turning them around a corner.

The hallway had been cleared of rubble; the patched roof repaired, and the narrow passageway was now well-lit; welcoming, smelling of cedar and cinnamon. Eddie breathed deep as Stick walked them down toward the study - or what he’d assumed was a study. Rainy scents blustered in over a few windows Eddie absentmindedly shut when within arm’s reach - Stick’s hand still steadily gripping his arm.

“You know the history of the house, son?” Eddie blinked, looking sidelong at Stick, brow furrowing.

“Bits and pieces,” Eddie said warily, once again met with the uneasy ripple down his spine. 

“Holds a lot of memories,” Stick said, calm as ever, and, lifting his hand at last, set it on the knob of the door at the end of the hall. The red structure swung inward; barely-touched, and Eddie watched with wide eyes as the little library came into view. Stick stepped in over the threshold as if he owned the place, moving out of the way of a ladder that rolled around the room on a track tethered to the shelves. The fine mahogany desk; equally-restored to fit the space, Stick greeted like an old friend. He tapped twice, and a drawer opened. The smile on his face shifted to something a little less wry.

“Hm. Some things never change.”

“...What is going on right now, exactly?” Eddie asked, voice slightly strained. It felt like he was trying to formulate thoughts through icy jello, submerged neck-deep. Stick ignored him, one hand rustling through the items in the desk drawer. “Mr. Stick?”

“Just Stick,” the old man replied, picking up an envelope faded by time; yellowed with age. He set it on the center of the desk, sightless gray eyes pinning Eddie like twin nails; hammering home a point he had yet to make. Eddie froze, the coinciding wisp of wind from the cracked window and the frostiness of that look halting him all but completely.

“There isn’t much time. Halloween’s almost here.”  _ Finally,  _ Eddie didn’t add. The room seemed to darken, Stick the only point of light haloed by the two lamps by the windows beyond the desk. In their own wavering way, they cast shadows to writhe on the walls beyond Eddie. He swore he heard the rustling turn of phantom pages; the subtle creak of a door already closed behind them. When had it closed? When did he…

The envelope was suddenly in his hand. The paper trembled, or he did, and Eddie looked from the man with the cane to the unmarked parchment in his palm. Stick inhaled softly; a rattling breath nearly as dusty as any of the crannies of Murdock House had been before the interference from the company of Quills. And interfere they had, Eddie noted regretfully, in something far more sinister and strange than they’d ever previously anticipated.

“When Halloween comes, so will everything this house is built upon - things come back. The veil thins. The key turns. Time moves oddly here,” Stick was saying. Cryptically. Eddie squinted, the prickling on his neck now outright scratching; panic trying to push its way out from under his skin. “Do you know why this house was originally built?”

“Why?” Eddie asked, clutching the envelope that much tighter. Stick smiled vaguely.

“The thing folks don’t understand is that most doors have locks on’em.” Leaning on the desk, Stick chuckled, head bobbing as if to some unseen party. Eddie cast a look around the room, trying to catch sight of anything unnatural. Walls like forests melted for paint greeted him; the deep green caught between dark wood and fine art. It was a  _ beautiful  _ space, floor to ceiling with embellished covers and crinkling paper. Eddie swallowed, gaze lingering on a portrait by the window of a woman with raven-dark hair and knowing eyes.

“This place wasn’t built as a shelter, not in the sense of shelter as we know it,” Stick’s voice was even. Tranquil. “It was, if anything, a bomb shelter for what’s coming. A stop-gap on a pressure cooker. A lock...on a very big, very  _ angry  _ door.”

“The Hellmouth,” Eddie breathed. Stick, unblinking, lifted his head.

“The Hellmouth,” he agreed, “as you call it.” He grasped his cane, straightening upright - and pointed to the envelope clasped in Eddie’s hands.

“That there will tell you what you need to do in order to stop it from opening. How to turn that lock and close that door. For good.”

“Why’re - who are you? Really? Why’re you telling me this?” Eddie asked, glancing between the item in his hand to the man who’d all but manifested from nowhere - an assessor or not; though more and more Eddie leaned toward the latter. His heart, banging on his chest, agreed - and wanted  _ out  _ of the little green room with the walls of books and the watchful portraits, all of whom seemed to turn as one in the light of the lamps. In the lights of those eyes like granite slabs waiting for names to be carved into them.

“Because, Eddie,” Stick said; in that same wheezy voice that didn’t hurry to explain itself, “ _ you’re the one who sees things _ .”

Eddie blinked, about to ask him what he meant by that, but every hair on his body stood up at once as something outside, or under the floorboards, or from the walls themselves -  _ howled. _ A shrieking, screaming noise that built and built until - 

“Eddie?” Peter’s hand on his shoulder made him jolt, and when he turned, the room was cold and empty.

Stick was gone. Naturally. His hands up, Eddie stared at Peter, who gazed back at him, wide-eyed. Eddie, still gripping what he’d been given, panted faintly. Peter moved in, his arms looping loosely around Eddie’s shoulders. 

“Hey, hey - hey, it’s me, I got you, it’s just - it’s Peter...okay? Are you alright? What’re you doin’ up here all alone…?” Peter drew a hand up to Eddie’s head, stroking his hair worriedly.

“He wasn’t alone,” Matt said quietly from somewhere else in the room. Eddie flinched anew, and Matt carefully turned on a light, foregoing the usual pyrotechnics. Human in guise, save for the way his eyes caught the electric gleam, he stood behind the desk - exactly where Stick had been, and, for a moment, Eddie swore he saw the strange ghost overlaying the demon, silver on crimson and rust. A shudder wracked through him, and Eddie suddenly realized just how cold he was. 

“Whatcha mean, sugar?” Peter asked, brow furrowing. Matt’s mouth set in a pensive, thin line.

“The house is waking up,” he said softly. A beat passed, and Matt licked his lips with a forked tongue; nerves spiking. 

“And quite frankly...so am I.”


	17. Something Wicked, Something Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are starting to come to a head. Will Murdock House still stand when the clock strikes twelve?

###  A storm was rolling across the grounds, fog heralding the entrance of a cold front against warm.

Scurrying sounds clattered through the walls; shutters did what they did best and slapped against the windows per the gales’ request. The demon, still standing behind the desk, exhaled slowly. One hand shifted across the desk nervously, sweeping back and forth. Gold light from the lamp conjured the darkness he cast - higher and sharper. Despite his vision of humanity, the devil was alive and well in the shadows on the wall. Crowned in his horns and speaking with a tongue of flame, the horrible dark marionette danced when Matt did - his hand skimming the air as he started to speak.

“It’s still...pieces,” he said quietly. Peter moved in to be closer to him, haphazardly sitting on the antique desk. Eddie, still frozen to the spot, watched Matt from a little ways off - till the demon extended a hand to him, freckly and innocent.  _ Human. _

Eddie’s coarse digits caught Matt’s and held them, and with that came a little smile of relief, Matt straightening up from the desk somewhat as if strengthened by the gesture. Peter stroked his other arm, face full of nothing but encouragement. 

“Tell it in pieces,” Eddie suggested quietly when the lull came, and Matt seemed to struggle to find a place to start, “as much as you can. Or beam it directly into our heads, like you do sometimes.” There was work still to be done - actual assessors, property appraisal, setup for the impromptu auction, and all Eddie could do was think of this. Of Matt. 

Prior to this, in their lives, the only ghosts and goblins they got involved with were keeping a running tally of trick-or-treaters at the door. Last year had been close to two hundred - so said Peter, anyway, because Eddie absolutely nodded off watching  _ Casper  _ on the couch, in full costume [last year’s had been an undead slugger; socks, bat and all].

“...I was not always - this,” Matt said slowly, and both men snapped back to the present, Peter leaning in so much he nearly collapsed onto Matthew, and Eddie tightening his hand around the demon’s own; disguised as it was. Sightless eyes traveled the middle distance, following the way the light reverberated and bounced - or rather, it wasn’t light. It was...like a grid, Matt realized. Like one of Eddie and Peter’s blueprints, but blown-up around the room, mapping it completely. Etched to life by some unseen hand, sparks glimmering, he could make out every book on the shelf - there were 372 books in the room, his brain supplied after a moment or so. And four of them had water damage.

“Before this, I was...more, I think. It wasn’t...quite so hard to be,” he struggled and swallowed, thoughts filtering up to the surface from where the latch had been pulled - the door had been opened. This, too, was a gateway. This, too, was a threshold.

“I had a...a purpose.” Eddie inhaled slowly; smelling - wet hay, crackling fire. Peter lifted his face to the breath of a breeze that came with the sound of burbling laughter. Senses other than that of sight filled in the blanks; clanking metal - creaking wood.  _ Furnace.  _ Blacksmith. Shodding horse shoes. A young boy running; gleeful breath in his lungs, kite string digging into the soft pads of his fingers curled tight. And Matt behind him always, a swooping shadow, gliding so swiftly and serenely he might as well have been a piece of the air.

“The boy,” he murmured, “Matthew.” Peter’s eyes shot open where he sat, but the illusion didn’t lift - nor did his hand lift from Matt’s arm as he spoke. There was a twist of anguish to his face now; almost inhuman. “I...was supposed to look after...him. Guard - him. But...Elektra, she…” his tongue shifted across his bottom lip, head bowing. 

“Convinced me...to defy orders. Just - for a little while. I was...angry. The boy didn’t...listen to me. Frustrated. I - followed Elektra...out of anger - and...he got hurt.”

Peter flinched as the sound of a crashing beam filled the room; the squawk of barn animals and the crying of a child following. Eddie; searing pain across his back, hunched forward, arms wrapping around his ribs. Matt’s hand left his, but hovered close, as if trying to siphon back the pain.

“This house...it...it’s where his father...lost him. I...lost him, too - I failed him...and because I failed my p...purpose,” Matt’s breath hitched, and Peter straightened to engulf him in a hug. Matt’s hands lifted to stave him off despite that, eyes swimming, and began to shake. Ghost-flames filled the air in whorling lines, dipping to and fro across the empty space. The scuttling sounds in the walls gave way to moaning winds; rattling pipes. It was as if Murdock House had finally started to stir from an age-old sleep.  _ The house is waking up. _ Walls breathed. Shutters blinked.

_ We’re in the belly of it, _ Eddie thought in a daze,  _ the beast has us. _ It was a crazed, wild little thought punctuated only by the sighing of floorboards beneath them. Matt continued.

“I was to be...unmade.” 

The ghost-fires became an inferno all at once, a swirling cyclone that erupted out of nowhere to consume the room in gleaming light, splintering sparks falling down from on high in a curtain of topaz and ruby. Peter jumped, clutching Matt even tighter than before, and Eddie shot to his feet, instinctively putting himself between the danger and his boys, but - 

The fire didn’t burn. It simply howled, raking its way back and forth across the floor, yowling. Pacing like it was a living thing itself. Gaze darting across the small space, Eddie exhaled, hands still outstretched behind himself in an effort to keep all chaos at bay. 

“I was sent below. Elektra…” That name sent a chill through all of them; smoky laughter and the scent of roses aflame, “took me. She - she brought me with her. And - then…”  _ Pain. _ “She was once...like me, I think, but - changed...before I did...and - this house…?” Matt’s voice, muffled against Peter’s arm, was tremulous. 

“This house isn’t just...a Hellmouth...it is - open to all possibilities. Worlds...Heaven...Hell - the man who lost his son...looked for ways to bring him back.” Eddie, gears churning in his head, felt it all start to click together.  _ Guard. Watch over. Protect.  _ The flight and the feeling of freedom, and - 

“Matt, were y--” the words stuck in his throat, a product of fear, or too much emotion, or the phantom soot in the air.  _ Were you...an angel? _ Golden eyes glittering with moisture briefly ticked his way. But neither of them said anything. 

Eddie was instead filled with a sudden dread, a whispering voice sinuously coiling around his ears - the tonguing of a serpent, whispering,  _ you shall be a perfect image of who you truly are. An image of your lust _ \- Eddie’s forehead ached; memories of horns he didn’t have, _ and red like your own wrath. _ Fur crawled across his arms, then vanished, and Eddie hugged himself, shivering.

_ As you were meant to be... _

Matt slowly withdrew from Peter’s arms as the fiery vortex dissipated; nothing but gasping ash that faded, too. 

“I just need to find a way to close the door,” he finished faintly, eyes averted. He turned from Eddie and Peter, shuffling toward the entrance of the den without another word. Peter fumbled and missed, trying to snag Matt’s arm, then traipsed after him on stumbling feet. “Halloween means - all doors will be open. Fully. For a night. Maybe longer. Have to shut them.”

“Matt - wait!  _ We  _ can close the door! Eddie’s been looking into the - ther why and how of it all, and I think we can do it...you don’t have to worry, whatever happened before - it wasn’t you. It’s not you now, I mean, and - and you can choose to be anyone you want to be. You...clearly held onto pieces of the good, right? The name; Matt, and...protecting people. You protect us.” 

Matt lifted his head tiredly, face a little shaggier, ears a little pointier. Energy draining, he was in desperate need of sustenance. Eddie’s heart twisted; despite how it pounded, and he lifted a hand, stepping out after Matt at last, to gently touch his shoulder.

“We accept you,” Eddie said firmly, more sure than ever, “we’ve all got our demons, so - better the one you know, right?” Matt and Peter both turned toward him, equally baffled. “...it’s - it’s a real phrase -  _ anyway, _ ” Eddie said, pressing on with a sigh, “point is. We ain’t the same as we started, either. Hell - Pete’s from small-town Missouri; he needed the city to grow and thrive - arguably,” Eddie added, and Peter’s face scrunched in acknowledgment, “and I had to get away from where I started. Big time.” Something tired flickered in Eddie’s eyes, but his hand slid around to cup Matt’s face, cradling it close.

“Point is, you’re not in this alone anymore. And whatever happens next, we’ll see it through with you.” Matt’s eyes shifted across Eddie’s lips, then dropped to his chest, hand rising to follow where his gaze lay. The heart under his digits stayed steady. Not a lie detected. Eddie meant it - and, stubborn as Matt knew him to be; instinctively, he knew there’d be no talking him out of it, either.

“So we go back to finding the door,” Peter said softly, rubbing Matt’s head with a fluff of his hair, scritching his scalp. Surrounded by love, tasting it in everything, Matt rocked on his heels, almost overwhelmed. “And we take care of it. We lock it up, we make sure this place goes to good hands that won’t heck it all up.”

“‘Heck it all up’?” Eddie teased softly. Peter pulled a face. “‘Zat like your made-up swearwords?”

“‘Flark’ is a perfectly reasonable alternative to - you know what, it don’t matter any.” Stooping in, Peter clipped a kiss to Matt’s temple and dipped a hand down to squeeze his fingers, holding him close. “We got you, baby. The only Matt that matters is the one standing right here.” Tired, relieved, and disbelieving, Matt raised a hand to touch Peter’s face - then, without a word, clambered up into his arms. “O-kay, the Matt that matters is now the one I’m holding,” Peter adapted quickly, arms dropping to support his demon, swaying a little in place. Worried eyes like mossy logs rolled Eddie’s way, and the other hand, hands on his hips, sighed faintly.

“Hang out here for a sec, okay? I’ll um - go try’n find him some food, okay? And...keep lookin’, I guess. There’s gotta be signs of it here. If nothin’ else, we got the witches on speed-dial now - what a thing to say,” Eddie added, hand shrugging into the air. “We’ll get this figured out. And pretty soon, this house won’t be your problem. You can live, Matt. What you make of  _ yourself  _ matters more than who or what made you.”

Without looking back, Eddie all but jetted from the room - nerves driving him from the strangeness of it all, the disquieting chills and the chittering of unseen things. The dark hall was labyrinthine, but as Eddie walked, the lamps turned on. He tried to tell himself it was motion-detector lights he’d installed himself, but the truth was, none of the lamps up here had those on - they were reserved for the bottom floor where most guests would be. Eddie kept his eyes forward and walked, however, heading for the big staircase. A figure at the end of the hall beckoned with a crooked arm, fingers trailing sensually in the shadows.  _ Just a coat rack, _ Eddie lied to himself, like anyone in a horror movie might.  _ Snacks in the truck. That’s all I gotta do, and - _

“Eddie!” A friendly voice. A blessedly  _ familiar  _ voice. Eddie paused in his hurried ascent down the steps. At the bottom, waving with an enthusiasm unparalleled, was a round-faced man with a mane of golden hair and the world’s most garish pumpkin-patterned tie. Splitting into an expression of beatific relief, Eddie raised a hand in return, flicking his fingers in a wave. 

“Foggy fuckin’ Nelson,” he crowed, hopping down the last three steps and swinging in to both shake Foggy’s hand and wrench him into a bone-crushing hug. “Damn it’s good to see you. What’re you doin’ so far out of town, though? Not like you to come up to the boonies like this.” Drawing back, Eddie shook the other man by the shoulders - definitely not trying to make sure he was real,  _ for sure. _ Foggy grinned; the crinkly, good-natured grin of someone very pleased with themselves, clasping Eddie’s arms warmly before withdrawing.

“Came to represent a client.”

“A client? You can’t just stop by and say hello way out of your way anymore?” Eddie drawled. Foggy chuckled, shaking his head.

“Listen - I haven’t seen you at temple recently, otherwise I would’ve told ya.” 

“Ah - yeah, life’s been crazy lately,” Eddie said - trying to ignore the distant tug of guilt that came with shirking that kind of duty. It was also where he and Foggy had met, after all - even before Peter came into the picture. 

“But hey,” Eddie added, “we should catch up about that soon. I’m just finishing this Murdock House project and I should be free because it’ll be off-season, and...well - you know the drill,” he shrugged a shoulder, half-smiling. Behind Foggy, another man turned out of the shadows and Eddie tensed - though he seemed as solid as Foggy did; strapping and handsome - some fella of Asian descent, with a twinkle in his eye and...a lollipop in his mouth. Eddie blinked. 

He supposed, though, his life couldn’t really get that much weirder. Maybe.

“Hey - Danny,” Foggy called over his shoulder, “this is Eddie - one of the guys who -”

“ _ Yeahyeahyeahyeah _ ,” the man called Danny said brightly, pocketing his cellphone and offering Eddie a hand to shake. In taking it, Eddie found his arm damn near popped from its socket from the way the other shook it. “Eddie C.A. Brock of Hammer & Chisel, right? Danny Rand. It was my Philanthropic Society that reached out to you recently about this place. Also: I read your blog.”

“You read my blog?” Eddie asked, bewildered.

"He read your blog," Foggy put in as well, amusement on his face. Danny smiled, hand releasing Eddie's own at last. Thunder in the distance boomed, an approving seal from the skies above. Eddie, relieved, smiled broadly. Maybe their luck was turning around. Small blessings in big sums.

"And I'd like to ask what you'd want this place to become." Eddie could only stare for a moment, completely baffled. An hour ago, he might've told Danny to burn it to the ground. Now - he wasn’t so sure. 

But it was Matt who spoke up quietly from the back of the stairs, saying: "something good." 

Peter, appearing there with the other man still tucked in his arms, looked between those gathered and smiled weakly. Eddie raised a brow, eyes motioning to the second floor. Why hadn’t they stayed put? Peter shook his head just a touch frantically, then managed a wiggle of fingers in Foggy’s direction.

“Hey Fog.”

“Hey Pete,” Foggy said, brows knitting. “Whatcha got there?” Matt slipped out of Peter’s grasp to stand upright, tugging his soft henley into place.

“Something good,” he repeated, though whether he meant himself or the house remained to be seen. He was human in appearance fully again, though looked more exhausted than ever. He swayed till Peter placed a hand on his shoulder, stabilizing him. Matt inhaled, 

"Beg pardon?" Danny asked, craning to see Matt around Eddie, "and who are you? The one who isn’t ‘Chisel’."

“Oh - I’m ‘Hammer’, actually,” Peter said with a bright grin, just a little frenzied even so. Danny smiled, bemused. “It’s because - well, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Right - well. Okay, I’ll bite - ‘something good’. You’re talking...what, orphanage? School?” Matt nodded to the second point, thoughtfully. Danny shrugged with his mouth, then smiled. “Alright, I’ll bite. I’ll try to wrangle up some education-based philanthropists for the auction, put the word out. It should be a party, though. You guys do parties, right?” Eddie hesitated, but Peter nodded exuberantly. Matt only held still, silent and listening - to something other than the newcomer happily babbling his plans to the air. 

“--and we can take the highest bidder and match it, then flip things so all the funds end up allocated to the cause of further renovation and upkeep; a trust, of sorts, decide definitively what it’d be good for and--”

The grandfather clock in the back of the first floor tolled the hour. Slow, purposeful, a dirge to end all dirges, the marching ticks and tocks bonged into oblivion; some dreary music that rose to the rafters. All around them, time seemed to slow. Danny’s gestures were molasses-like, his features no less sunny and bright. Foggy, tossing a tic-tac into his mouth, would be waiting quite a while for the mint to reach him. Flickering apparitions in the form of the lamps going out, one by one, beyond Peter and Matt at the top of the stairs - wavered. The figure from the other end of the hallway stood in a gown of pure abyss, ebony train trailing behind her. No, not a train -  _ hair. _ Long, bountiful, lush waves of shadow. Her long claws extended, snuffing out any trace of light. Peter, too, moved slowly - turning in place. 

Only Matt and Eddie moved as one - not chained to the new reality of the creaking, clonking clockwork gears. Matt swiveled and snarled, human guise blazing off him; a demon in a henley now, claws unsheathed. Eddie swore, and, unable to think of anything else, drew the exacto knife from his pocket to aim at the shade - the obsidian woman now face-to-face with him. Her teeth were horrible points, her beetle-black eyes swimming with despair. When she laughed, it was an echo of something else, the whimpering cries of men on the racks of torment down below.

Eddie Brock saw Hell in her gaze as she spoke and the hour kept chiming. And chiming. And chiming, deep in his chest.

_ “Not good, _ ” she purred, nowhere - her mouth didn’t move - but  _ everywhere _ at once,  _ “you will never be good again.” _

Darkness crashed over Murdock House until the only thing left was a faint amber glow; an orange jack-o-lantern in the window, warding off evils from the outside --

When it should’ve been turned  _ within. _


	18. The Descent into Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a race against time as Eddie attempts to out-maneuver the semi-sentient Murdock House. dun dun dun

###  Light came back slowly, like the turning up of a Tiffany lamp.

Eddie blinked twice - three times - and realized he wasn’t in a room with a lamp on. He was laying in his bedroom, one arm behind his head, the other sprawled with a book over his chest. He felt - calm, relaxed in a way that made no sense. He felt like he should’ve been worried about something, but - 

“Hey Eddie.” Peter was there - his cheek pressed to the doorframe, bottom lip tucked beneath his pointy teeth, eyes sparkling. Impossible as it was to deny him anything, Eddie couldn’t even deny him a smile - shifting the book aside and beginning to sit up in the process.

“Hey baby,” he murmured back, voice raw from the softness of sleep. Bed creaking beneath him, Peter settled onto the corner, one hand slipping over Eddie’s leg, greeting him as he landed. Eddie caught his hand and kissed it, commoner to prince as always, and was rewarded with one of the raspy little titters Peter kept in abundance - always something to laugh about, always some way he could find joy. Eddie smiled at him fondly, thumb stroking his knuckles.

“You have a good sleep, Ground Control?” The words twisted up inside his chest and Eddie furrowed his brow, trying to pinpoint where that little agony had come from. But it was love, of course - love that burned in his middle, made it so hard to breathe sometimes.  _ The two of them, singing loudly along to the Bowie tape that’d been stuck in the Milano’s cassette player for the past month and a half - before Peter had leaned over to kiss him as he drove, nearly driving them off the road. “Ground Control to Major Tom - watch the road, watch the road-” “Relax, Eddie! I’ve got this…” _

Peter shifted closer still, all but pawing his way into Eddie’s lap. Their lips met, and Eddie hummed into the taste of sugar pumpkins; candy corn, saccharine things. Always a treat, seldom a trick - Peter brought the sweetness Eddie couldn’t go without. He’d always had such a wicked sweet tooth.

“Yeah,” he croaked as they finally broke apart; his laughter a breathless, wheezy thing. “Though I had some - wildly fucked-up dreams, I think…” He wanted to ask where all these candles had come from, but Peter’s hand slipped over his chest to drop him back against the bed, the warm orange embrace of the room around them flickering softly, and suddenly, the answer didn’t matter all that much to Eddie.

Their noses brushed, and he beamed up at Peter; light of his life,  _ love  _ of his life, untangling his fingers to stroke through his golden hair instead. In the candlelight, Peter looked like a wheat field at sunset. He looked like cornsilk on fire. He…

Was beyond words, really. Eddie’s heart swelled as Peter curved in place to kiss his palm.

“What kinda dreams, baby?” He asked softly. Eddie blinked, glancing up on the ceiling - 

And for a moment, he swore he saw someone looking back at him, beetle-black eyes in a face like bone, white needle-like teeth bared. 

He started slightly, but settled - it was just the way the ceiling paint swooped - could’ve looked like someone’s features in light like this. His gaze turned back toward Peter, who was tenderly kissing his way over ink and veins, little clips of his lips catching on bracelets and scars. 

“D’ast, you wear so many of these,” he laughed faintly, and Eddie furrowed his brow, still toying with Peter’s tawny tresses. “Talk to me,” Peter said again, sitting back up, crossing his arms on Eddie’s chest to lay atop him, sage-and-malt gaze soft on his face. Eddie cradled his cheek after a beat, thumb stroking Peter’s lips. 

“...I thought - we had a demon.”

“A demon?” Peter asked, bemused. “Halloween come early this year, honey?”  _ Honey.  _ Like the ingredient itself, something about that stuck funny in his head. Oozed down his spine with prickles of unease to follow. Eddie pursed his lips, nodding anyway.

“Yeah - his name was Matt, he was - kinda like...you know how maned wolves are colored? Like that. Only - he was cuter. Way cuter. Who’d ever heard of a cute demon before?” Eddie laughed, though he didn’t know why, and Peter did too, though the sound was - wrong, somehow. Eddie couldn’t place it, but it sent a shiver through him. Maybe the dreams lingered longer than he’d thought.

“Well - that doesn’t sound too bad,” Peter pointed out, fingers stroking the place where Eddie’s henley fell open, lingering on spider-webbing tattoos and fine sandy fuzz. Eddie nodded in agreement, rumbling faintly as Peter dipped in to kiss the part of his chest he could reach, lips chasing the sound Eddie made up the surface of his neck. “Besides…” His teeth caught Eddie’s ear, and when he spoke again, it was in a new voice, now - 

“ _ One man’s Hell can always be another’s Heaven. _ ”

Eddie shot upright; alone, in the bedroom that wasn’t his, still surrounded by thousands of tealight candles stacked on Victorian shelving. The room was nothing but shelves and lights, the shadows intense smears of kohl across the hardwood floor. Heart pounding hard as a boxer beating his way out of a corner, Eddie swung his legs off the side of the bed and looked down.

For a moment, there was a long, thin  _ thing  _ peering back at him, head rotating slowly all the way upside-down - the gruesome frown of which became a sneering angler-fish maw, skinny fingers cracking and clicking as it began to rise in a bridging arc off the floor. With a yelp, Eddie jerked his feet back into the bed - as if it mattered - and stood, reaching for anything to wield as a weapon. A hammer from the work he’d been doing sufficed, and Eddie wielded the rusty item with a wrathful  _ “STAY BACK!” _ that made every wick in the room sputter; flickering.

He was alone again.

Slowly peering over the side of the bed, Eddie saw nothing now - not whatever that was, not the Peter-that-wasn’t...and, risking everything, he hopped off the bed onto the floor. One foot lashed out to kick the bed, and it scooted slightly to the left - revealing nothing but floorboards beneath it. Inhaling shakily, Eddie turned back to face the door of the bedroom - 

To find it open. Laughter and music echoed beyond, somewhere in the abyss, there was a party. Maybe? It was possible he was still dreaming. He’d risk that, too - if it meant getting answers. If it meant ending this, whatever it was, once and for all - 

Clutching the hammer in his hands like a baseball bat, Eddie stepped toward the threshold to peer off into the hallway - glancing left; right, and looking down.

Just an ordinary hall. 

Murdock House pulsed with life, the far-off sounds of music in the form of cello and violin strings pulling at his ears. Eddie stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind himself. He swore he felt something surge toward the door as he did, but like every horror movie taught him, he didn’t look back. Couldn’t look back. The risk was too great - if he looked back again, and there was something waiting for him in the hallway, his ability to fight whatever it was would be - worse than it was already. Who was he kidding?

“I’ve got a hammer to fight a horde of demons with,” Eddie muttered, announcing his chances with a grim expression on his face. His hands tightened on the handle of the tool nonetheless, and he began to walk forward.

And on. And on. And on. This had to be the longest fucking hallway in existence. It never  _ ended.  _

It was only by the time Eddie realized he was out of breath and getting nowhere that he had passed the same portrait of a woman with unbound black hair no less than a dozen times. She had skin like hazelnut; cheekbones that could kill a man, and the same, strange void-dark eyes he’d seen in the others - whatever they were - back in the bedroom. Her hands folded neatly over something gleaming in her lap, chin proudly raised, she was - out of place. Out of time. A vision in crimson and ebony, however, her garments ribbons of blood against a velveteen midnight sky. 

His eyes dropped back to the item in her lap. It was a - knife, of some kind, he assumed. It looked almost like a pitchfork, albeit tiny. Pronged and odd. He glanced back up into her face, studying the proud lines, the pristine elegance. She had a visage that spoke of someone hungry. Something caged, just - waiting to jump out. As if her skin couldn’t hold her bones. She was cutting her way free.

Something clinked, and Eddie looked back down to her lap again. She was holding a hammer. Glancing at his own hand - the knife - the  _ sai,  _ a voice  _ sighed  _ in his ear - appeared. Eddie flinched and flung it away as if scalded, staring at his hand. Up and down the hallway, laughter echoed, and of their own volition, his legs began to move.

“Wait - wait wait wait wait  _ wait- _ ” his throat closed when he tried to think of a prayer to say, anything from the Torah, something to dissuade whatever was happening - to keep it from  _ happening  _ \- but as he stumbled and clawed his way toward a wall, grabbing vases, tablecloths, whatever he could as he went along - Eddie heard the music getting closer. Closer - the hall was finally lightening, until - 

With a gasp, Eddie found himself standing in the foyer of the ballroom on the second floor, the grand entrance of which was decorated with dozens of purple, orange, and black Halloween garlands. People in costumes walked to and fro, or danced to the orchestra in the back [all of whom were dressed as skeletons]. Bowls of punch with ladles in the shapes of witch-hands waited on either side of the room; exact mirrors of each other with snack tables of...deviled eggs; crispy bacon roses, poached things, candy, sweets - a dizzying array of sights, sounds, and smells that hit Eddie from every direction at once.

In the center of the room, dancing by himself, helmet tucked under his arm, was Peter. In a full astronaut outfit, no less, his hair a little sweaty from how hard he’d been bopping along to the music - some jaunty number from the Haunted Mansion, presently. Too fitting. In a panic, Eddie rushed forward toward Peter, making a beeline from the threshold.

“ _ Peter _ !” 

“Hey, baby,” Peter chirped, still shimmying in place, a grin brightening his face when he saw his husband barreling toward him, “about time you showed up. Hey -” His brow furrowed. “Where’s your costume? You said you were getting ready hours ag--hey!” His arm ensnared, dragged from the dance floor toward one of the tables, Peter scrabbled to shove Eddie’s hand away, scowling. “I was in the groove!”

“You can get back in the groove later,” Eddie snapped - then regretted it, seeing Peter’s face close and harden. “Sorry - I promise I wouldn’t be - doin’ this if it wasn’t important, okay, Pete? Something’s  _ wrong,  _ it’s this house-”

“What’re you talking - Eddie, slow down, honey,  _ breathe, _ ” Peter soothed, setting his helmet down on a plate of ladyfingers so he could hold onto Eddie with both hands. Eddie’s features scrunched; flinching as if struck.  _ Honey.  _ There it was again. Whatever it was. It wasn’t  _ right. _

“We gotta get outta this house, Pete,” Eddie said, not bothering to stop and breathe otherwise. “It’s - it’s fucking with us. Where’s Matt? We need to grab Matt and go.”

“Eddie…” Peter’s brow creased further, and, head cocked to one side, he looked Eddie over much more carefully. “How much candy have you had?”

“I’ve - what? Pete, this isn’t funny!”

“You’re right, you’re right, I’m sorry,” Peter conceded, inclining his head with a wince of apology. “I just - I don’t know what you’re talking about, Eddie. You’ve been...acting weird for a little while now. Can we talk about this later? They’re gonna auction the house off soon, so-”

“No,” Eddie said, desperation making the sound  _ burst  _ out of him in a rush, “no, we - we gotta find Matt, we gotta close the door! We have to close the door, Peter, before the house can go on the market. Because it’s - it’s evil. It’s a Hellmouth.”

“I knew that Buffy marathon was a bad idea,” Peter said under his breath, and Eddie’s blood pressure damn near went nuclear.

“I’m - telling you, please,  _ listen  _ to me, Pete,” Eddie hissed, thrusting a finger at the floor. “This  _ house  _ is bad news, and why - why are we even havin’ this party, huh? Can you tell me?” Peter cast him the strangest look yet at that question, then glanced around, thinking.

“...Well - because it’s Halloween of course, silly,” he said, finally looking back Eddie’s way. “We said we’d do the auction on Halloween.”

“Which was when?” Eddie countered; dogged. Mad. Peter took a leisurely step back and away from him. Somewhere; a clock chimed the hour, and the band began to play something slower. “Peter - don’t - please just stay. Stay put, for two minutes, hear me out - I know you can -”

“Eddie, you’ve been overdoing it, okay?” Peter said gently, beckoning with both hands. “Come dance with me, baby. These past three days, you just - haven’t been yourself. I mean…” Peter huffed a laugh, motioning to all of Eddie. “You didn’t even wear a costume. You’re just covered in paint.” 

“What?” Eddie asked; dazedly - gaze dropping to the rest of his body. 

Red.

All of it, red - just...coated, rusty stains like spilled malbec, staining his hands. His shirt, sticky; clinging to his ribs and chest. His jeans coated with more of the same, blue denim dyed strawberry; streaked. A hand rose to his face and came away damp. Everything - everything - 

Bloody.

When he looked back up, the room was cold and dark and covered in cobwebs. There was still the grinding gears of the great clock, like the beast of a house was gnashing its fangs. Chomping at the bit. The stench of iron and copper in the air made him gag, and Eddie backed away from the empty ballroom, letting the hallway consume him, but - 

He forgot to look behind himself.

And then he was falling.

The floor gave way beneath him -  _ bad patch job,  _ was all he could think for a second; wildly - as he descended into nothing. He couldn’t even scream. His hand floundered for something in the dark as his heart cried out for  _ Peter,  _ for  _ Matt, Matt, where was Matt, Matt would save them, Matt could do it, he BELIEVED in Matt _ \--

Should’ve kept his faith, something bitter said to him. Should’ve worn his Star. Should’ve gone to Temple. Should’ve done a lot of things to be in better favor with his g-d. Now he was bound for somewhere dark and horrible; putrid with brimstone. To be condemned and damned; bulldozed into the earth like a demolition-to-come. 

One hand strained higher, despite that - defiant - reaching for light he couldn’t see. But Eddie  _ knew  _ it had to be there. Somewhere; the moon. Somewhere, the stars Peter loved. Somewhere, the little fires that followed Matt when he was feeling some kind of way.

Eddie’s faith had always been in the people he loved. The people who made a difference.

_ Help me, _ he begged, still careening toward oblivion,  _ help me. I know that you can. _

Just when he was about to give up and close his eyes; accept his fate -

Two hands caught him around the middle and Eddie half-yelled; a strangled measure, in the back of his throat. The roaring rush of air passing him by continued for a moment in his ears till he realized that was just his body settling. The solid, warm form that held him was soft like silk; maybe softer.

Whirling in place, Eddie found himself clasped for dear life in Matt’s arms. The demon; exhausted, frayed, and troubled - covered in dusty spiderwebs himself - looked relieved in spite of it all. 

“Matty,” Eddie breathed, and the small, pointy smile that followed was all he needed to know things would be okay.

“Thank you for believing in me, Ed-die,” Matt said quietly, “that helped me come back.”

“C-come back? From where? Matt, _what_ is going on?” Matt let him go after a moment, and, almost reluctantly, slid their hands together. Eddie felt a kick in his chest like he’d just insulted a mule, and before he knew it, he was down on one knee on the floor, blinking away black stars. “Wh…”

“Might be too late,” Matt murmured, hauling him back upright with a grimace, “she has her claws in you now, Ed-die. Marked you for Hell. I couldn’t...stop her.” He inhaled and the sound of crackling flames followed; invisible, yet resonant. “But I  _ will  _ fix this. I will...heal you.” 

“Who?” Eddie asked dazedly, “who, Matt…”

Vision swimming, he willed the dual Matts to reel into place in front of him. They were standing on the second-floor landing, surrounded by moonlight. Matt exhaled, glancing around them, the house coming back into focus as if a dial was being turned. Adjustments were made. The whirring sound continued as clockwork walls began to call the hour. Chiming a chilly, silvery sound through the empty, echoing air.

“Elektra,” Matt said dourly, and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s palm - exactly where Peter-Who-Wasn’t had earlier. This one  _ blazed,  _ though - and it chased away the shaking cold Eddie hadn’t known he was even  _ feeling _ . “But don’t worry, Eddie.” Golden eyes that glowed more fiercely than any candle turned his way, a snarl on Matt’s face as he clutched Eddie tighter.

“ _ I won’t let her hurt either of you. _ ”

Resolve in his jaw, Matt gripped Eddie tight, and, with his free hand raised in  _ help-not-hurt _ , the demon tore down the illusion of nothing to reveal where his enemies hid.


	19. Striking the Midnight Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween is almost - finally - at an end. What does that entail for our unlikely heroes? Stay tuned.

###  Sheer and shimmering, the veil fell; torn by Matt’s fury. 

Gossamer gauze flittered to the floor before dissipating, the perpetual night of the mansion around them giving way to a brilliant amber glow. It was close enough to the first of his nightmares that Eddie briefly feared they’d re-entered them - 

But the sight of the crowd below set his heart at ease, somewhat.

Foggy was there, in a curly judge’s wig from what had to be the 1700’s, all dolled up to the nines with his cheeks rouged and everything. He was in deep debate with Danny Rand - whose costume seemed to be a Harvey Dent motif; a split suit down the middle and grisly makeup on one side of his face. There were others, too, that Eddie recognized - workmen done up like half-hearted zombies, a few clients they’d had in the past…

No orchestra, thankfully. Rand wasn’t quite so flashy, from what Eddie understood. He probably wouldn’t even be in a suit right now were it not a part of his costume. That felt like such a useless thing to realize, given their circumstances, that Eddie straight up laughed - nervous, high, and giddy, until Matt laid a hand on his arm.

“Ed-die,” he said quietly, “not much time.” 

_ Right. _

“What should we do? And - Matt, where is Peter?” Eddie searched the freckly face desperately; well-aware that the demon guise was mere millimeters from breaking through the glamour. Matt looked  _ exhausted,  _ features worn and tired. The troubling furrow between his brows only deepened as he looked around, scanning the milling throng for signs of their boy. But there was no whiff of leather and sugar, no chaser of ozone or sweat. The crowd as a billion different scents and sounds at once, and Matt, overloaded, started to waver. Eddie pressed a hand to his back and let the demon settle against him.

“Just - breathe for me,” he murmured, at a loss to say anything else. “C’mon, Matty. I got you…” Matt remembered to breathe; felt air fill his lungs, and followed the feeling. Down to the soles of his feet. Up to the top of his head. It rocked through him; a gentle wave. He was present. Physical. Tangible. He could do this. Find Peter.  _ Find Peter. _ Into the dark recesses of a heart he was surprised to learn he had at all, Matt stole away. A thread, a tether, deep in his spirit. He tugged - 

And somewhere, not too far, he felt the tension  _ twang. _

Sunny eyes shot widely open. Rand was rushing up the stairs toward them, his enthusiasm marred only by the horrible mangle that was half of the side of his face. Patchouli and caramel coffee scents swirled in his wake, and Matt had to resist the urge to gag, letting Eddie keep him steady where he stood.

“Hey! Glad you guys finally decided to show. We’re going to host the auction an hour to midnight,  _ ooh, _ ” Danny declared, wiggling his fingers in a would-be-spooky way. “Shame you didn’t put on costumes or anything, but - I suppose that’s alright. Neat contacts though -” Danny snapped his fingers before putting them to his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m so bad with names, what was yours again?”

“No time,” Matt murmured, and, once he’d swung upright fully, brushed past Danny without another word. Nonplussed, the businessman glanced between Eddie and the rapidly-departing figure of Matt. Eddie laughed nervously, shrugging with his hands. 

“He’s - he’s not from around here, listen - Danny, it’s Halloween, right?” 

“...Ye-e-es?” Danny said slowly, swiveling on the steps to watch Eddie hasten after Matt with a quickening speed. 

“Cool - just - just checking. It’s -” He couldn’t think of what else to say, so Eddie just went with - 

_ “It’s been a real Hell of a week.” _

Making a face at himself as he spun around fully to vanish into the crowd, Eddie felt the buzz of his phone and all but jolted clean out of his skin. Fumbling to grab it as he ducked around an alligator’s tail, the woman inside of it cackling maniacally at a joke cracked by some sort of...Monopoly Man. Hoping against hope, Eddie checked the message - but it wasn’t Peter.

_ _

_ Karen. _ Eddie had to resist the urge to hurl his phone, only just managing to type back  _ “where the fuck are you?” _ before jerking his head up to look for Matt. They needed to stick  _ together,  _ why was he just barreling off into the dark? Eddie caught a glimpse of red tail lashing people carefully aside; his stomach dropping. Cinderella wasn’t gonna last till midnight.

_ “We have to stay away,” _ Karen texted back as Eddie rushed through the crowd. “ _ But we are praying. We have gathered in our circle of power. Our coven is with you, Eddie. Our coven is with Peter. Our coven is with Matt. You must stop the door from opening fully. Look for the signs.”  _

Eddie didn’t bother to text back that it’d sure be fucking helpful to know what  _ signs  _ he was supposed to be looking for; exactly. The back hallway of the first floor loomed, full of candles and snack tables - signatures for silent auctions, no less, too. Eddie skidded to a halt only at another mundane realization -  _ the piano. _

Matt was right - they had next to no time, according to the timestamp of 10:44 PM on his phone - not that it seemed to matter. Everything felt like it was slipping away through the hourglass, running off down the sides of reality. Inhaling sharply, Eddie grabbed a pen and wrote in bold block letters across the auction sheet for the instrument:  **AUTOBID BY HAMMER & CHISEL.** Tossing the pen down, he strode off in search of Matt. If they survived for the consequences of that action, so be it. Eddie would get Matt anything he wanted from here on out.

A dangerous deal to make in terms of a demon, but that didn’t stop him from sealing the vow when he caught Matt’s hand in the gloom. The imp in question had finally slowed, the black pocket of abyss that was the world beyond the tables yawning ever deeper. The séance room had been closed to the public through the parlor and the closet - but the warm glow of the light from within, the only brightness in the dark, told them more than one door was open tonight.

Eddie squeezed Matt’s hand, his heart frantically fighting to find a way out of his chest. Matt squeezed back after a moment, golden eyes narrowing. From beyond the walls, hearing what he knew Eddie could not, there came a clicking drum. The tapping of claws; nails so fine and sharp they put daggers to shame. The scent of perfume; something like incense.  _ Matthew,  _ a breathed word washing his cares away, once upon a time. Tending to broken limbs. Caressing his face, keeping him warm. Sprouting fur in the coldest circles of Hell so he wouldn’t freeze. Hands dragged into unholy wells to toughen him; leathery pads from once-fine, silken skin. The sprouting of his own claws; the sips of rivers that turned his teeth pointed. 

And, inevitably, at her mercy, the acceptance. Wings clipped. Gone. Turned to ashes. He fell hard, and he fell for her, the one who taught him how to be who he was. Who, with the waters of Lethe, made him forget where he came from. He’d let her drown him for so long Matt had to wonder how he’d survived. How any good had survived, but - 

“Matt.” Eddie urged him to come back, and he realized he’d been standing stock-still in the direction of the hidden parlor for so long. “It’s eleven now - in - theory. Tell me what we need to do.”

“Peter,” Matt said suddenly, almost before Eddie’d even managed to finish his sentence. His ears pricked up and the demon surged forward, dragging Eddie along behind him. More of his guise had fallen away, the creep of rust-colored fur flowing up over his face. 

By the time they’d swung into the alcove that led to the parlor, it was completely gone - a demon in a soft shirt and sweatpants outright pulled him into the dark. Eddie flinched away from a creeping feeling to his immediate left, only to be greeted by a cold whisper against his right ear. Hair on the back of his neck on end, every instinct inside of him screamed  _ don’t. Look. Up. _

The parlor blazed to life before them, the hearth lit, the room occupied - though not in the way either of them, perhaps, had expected.

Peter lay on the table, his arms and legs outstretched, eyes closed. For the briefest moment, Eddie feared the worst - 

But he was - snoring. Softly. The easy, heavy breath of someone deeply under. Matt abandoned Eddie’s hand after a moment to clamber toward him -

“So glad you could make it.”

But both of them found themselves greeted directly by shadows that peeled off the unoccupied chair at the head of the table, shaping themselves into something new. 

It started with a smile in the shade; crescent moon coming out to play in a sky of obsidian. Cracks followed; long streaks like  _ Kintsugi, _ white-gold and bright, wrapping tendrils of luxury through a smooth form of ebony stone. Long, dark hair spilled across bare shoulders as the new demon rose upright, her breath a contented sigh. Shaking out her tresses, she steepled too-long fingers and leaned forward, expression blithe in all its black edges.

“Thank you,” Elektra said sweetly, “for bringing my Matthew back to me.”

Every hair on Matt’s body was on-end. The snarl creasing his face was nothing short of  _ incensed,  _ feral - all the molecules in his body  _ vibrating  _ with the desire to maim,  _ to harm.  _ To rip that smile off her face and feed it back to her, tooth by tooth - but he knew…

He knew that wouldn’t solve this. She’d just  _ come back. _

“Almost midnight,” Elektra said, and Eddie almost laughed; hysterical, as the demon checked her imaginary watch. “You’ve done well, Matthew.”

“Stop,” Matt breathed, claws lengthening. Tail thrashing in the air. Elektra only kept grinning, strange and horrible, as she slipped over the table, creeping across Peter with the grace of a terrible spider. Eddie moved, and Elektra gestured. Next thing he knew, he was blinking away stars, body prone - frozen to the wall by the fire, only able to look on. Helplessly.

“You served your purpose, too,” Elektra told him sweetly. “You were the one I latched onto. The one almost as angry as Matthew, deep down…” She slithered off the table in an ooze of inky tendrils, reforming to glide around the equally-petrified Matt, her knife-like talons dancing across his bristling shoulders. “It’s material I can work with. And we  _ all _ must serve a purpose, isn’t that right, Matthew?” Her fingers nudged his cheek, and Matt jerked away with a snarl, teeth snapping in the air. Elektra giggled, now back on the opposite end of the room. 

“...this is  _ not  _ our purpose.” Matt said firmly. Elektra feigned surprise, her long talons shifting across the back of the unoccupied chair. “Not  _ my  _ purpose.”

“You forget that I rescued you. _ I _ taught you who you really were,” she said, voice edged in anger. “God does not love his ‘perfect soldier’. There is no such thing. You were made imperfect.  _ I _ made you better. This human -” Eddie flinched as Elektra pointed his way, “was  _ my  _ gateway. I stepped in through his wrath. I have been named before. This is all I need.”

“Who named you?” Eddie asked faintly. “I certainly didn’t --” His mouth snapped shut of its own accord and Elektra pressed on.

“And _ he _ ,” Elektra dropped a hand to Peter’s shin, stroking softly, “will be the one who makes us all real. He will dream the doorway open for us. He has the power.” Eddie struggled in vain against the ties binding him to the wall, his wriggling minute at best. Whatever kept him locked in place  _ burned  _ with an icy-cold air. It scalded the skin. It crawled inside his throat when he tried to force out a scream.  _ Anyone! _

“He will not,” Matt seethed, much to Elektra’s apparent delight. With a lunge, Matt leapt onto the table, crouching over Peter, protectively shielding him in the way any animal might when cornered. Teeth bared, fangs out, Matt bristled anew, turning in a slow circle over the prone man on the table; a perfect reflection of Elektra’s pacing across the way.

“You brought him to me. Just like I taught you. You pull, I cull,” Elektra purred, her barbed teeth bared in a refreshed grin. Matt lowered himself over Peter; eyes narrowing. “And now…”

A clock chimed. Distant. Eddie strained to hear it.  _ Fifteen till,  _ a voice said in his head - urgent. It was fleeting. His head swung toward the hearth, then back to Elektra, Matt, and Peter - who’d finally begun to stir.

“Matty?” Peter asked faintly from under the weight and warmth of his protector, “whadido?” 

“Stay still, Pe-ter,” Matt muttered, face still turned toward Elektra. His claws dug into the wood of the table. Elektra seemed to pause at that, watching the curls of wood cling after the rake of talons. 

“My choices are my own,” Matt told Elektra flatly, “I chose to go with you. I chose to abandon my post. I chose, and now...I choose again. I choose  _ them. _ ”

“You don’t  _ have _ a choice anymore,” Elektra snapped, impatient - and one hand lifted. Wall after wall of the manor began to fall away backwards beyond her. The séance parlor yawned; expanding, a tunnel of wallpaper and melting wax. Eddie dropped back to his feet; freed as the structure shifted, and scrabbled to the table, lunging in to wrap his arms around Matt and Peter while he still could.

Maple, mahogany, oak, and cedar all blended together; blurring, patchwork. The tunnel Elektra was building billowed back toward the hallway, the architecture adjusting like a log cabin, link after link, a reclaibrating, dizzying Rubik’s cube of varying shades of brown, black, and gold. In the flickering void, shapes smudged like eraser marks, brief semblances of souls wandering the throughway. Eddie clutched Matt and Peter that much tighter - till suddenly, the demon he loved -  _ loved  _ \- was gone from his arms.

Partygoers clustered at the far end of the first floor, anticipation building as Danny wandered toward the podium. Little candles glowed, decorative skulls surrounded by plastic glitter-spiders rested against ribbon-wrapped pumpkins. The smell of cider and spices mingled in the air, and the music blaring in the background wailed about  _ the Midnight Special. _

“So many souls, all gathered here tonight,” Elektra mused, turning her back on the room behind her, walking past the archway she’d made and onto the tiled floor. She made no sound as she went, bare feet trailing briny ink behind her. One hand lifted, and, running her fingers across the face of the grandfather clock keeping watch over all the activity, she tapped one of the hands. Eddie felt the reverberation in his bones, barely managing to catch Peter as the other man’s eyes rolled; the lanky man reeling in his grip. Matt, tearing himself free of human restriction, clothes shredded by hasty hands, leapt after Elektra from the shadows - only to be batted aside, an effortless flick of her wrist.

“Humanity makes you  _ weak,  _ Matthew,” she informed him icily, “ _ life  _ up here makes you  _ weak.  _ Love makes you  _ weak. _ The only strength you have is the rage you feel within you. The hurt, the betrayal…” Elektra motioned to the crowd still chattering. “All of them? They  _ hate  _ things like us. We are  _ broken. Like them,  _ but more obvious. We don’t have to have the pretense of trying to do good when we are  _ not. _ Don’t you see?” She swung back around to smile at Matt, manic.

“We are the punishers. We are the judge, the jury. We execute the orders. No more pretending. No more lies! No more holy virtues. We are free, because we feed on their sins.” She took a breath as if to say something else, but Matt manifested behind her with a vengeful growl and slammed Elektra against the wall beside the stairs. The piano’s keys jumped sourly with the impact, rattled by the blow. Elektra scrabbled her hands across Matt’s wrist, croaking softly. 

“There you are,” she managed, laughing, “I was  _ waiting  _ for you. For so long. Come back to me…” Her hands softly stroked his forearm, lingering. “Come  _ home,  _ Matthew.” His face twitched, ears lowering. The glower lessened. His jaw went a little slack. Elektra soothed further, cradling the limb pinning her to the wall. “Call me  _ sweetheart  _ again,” she pleaded. “Call me  _ sweetheart,  _ and let me kiss the blood from your lips.”

“Matt,” Peter called faintly, once he’d come back from wherever he’d gone - a dark place, that much he knew. Matt was here. Eddie was here. He, Peter, was here. That was all that mattered. He could work with that. Even if he had no idea how to work with any of this, instinctively, Peter felt it. And as always, when Peter Quill felt something this strongly - 

He went with his gut.

“I was your choice, too.” Elektra’s gaze ticked Peter’s way, warningly. The floor lurched beneath his feet as tiles began to slide, black and white pieces like a chessboard being unmade. Peter staggered, Eddie setting a hand at his back to steady him as the house began to heave. Taking a breath, Peter raised his chin, his voice, his shoulders, and, with all his might, shouted:

“ _ I LOVE YOU _ , Matt! I love you, no matter what, no matter where you come from - make another choice! Make the choice that’s right for  _ you. _ We can be your home, too!”

“We  _ are  _ your home,” Eddie added, catching on - and stumbled as the floor cracked below him, the hiss of dust and the stench of decay rising. Gagging, he covered his mouth and nose with the collar of his shirt and kept pushing on. “We -- we believe in you.”

Peter swallowed, and, steadying himself on the parallel lines of an ever-widening gyre, took another few steps forward. Matt’s hand tightened on Elektra’s throat, the gold lines running through obsidian skin beginning to crack and splinter. A spiderweb of whiskey-bright light spilled across her flesh, traveling upward.

“You wanna stay?” Peter asked, just as he had the first time they’d seen one another. In a little vintage kitchen, in a massive ancient house. Just the two of them. Nothing else in the world. Till he named Eddie. Till he named Matt. And by giving them name, so he gave them life. And love. And reality. Solidity. There was weight to their bond, and Peter, feeling the wrenching pull from Matt as he dragged his focus back his way. Though he couldn’t see him, as always - Matt  _ felt  _ Peter. Deeply.

Fresh air. Tickling grass. Warm sunlight. Sweets slipping over his tongue. The way the giggles hurt the ribs after a while, in a good way. The lazy mornings of tangled legs and strewn sheets so soft Matt wanted to live in them forever. The weight of exhaustion from saying or doing too much, only to find himself picked up and carried. Eddie kissing his temple. Peter scratching just above his tail. The music that filled the brownstone on Friday nights especially. Blowing off steam dancing around the kitchen till their feet left the floor.  _ Sanctuary, sanctuary, sanctuary. _

The bell tolled.

“Too late,” Elektra breathed, snickering. Matt’s hand loosened on her throat as he stepped away. “You’re too late. The door will open. It is already time!” At once, she was behind Peter, her lengthening limbs tight around his body. She turned him in place as the auction kept going beyond them; beyond the stairs. Peter squirmed, one hand desperately clawing for Matt. Frozen, Eddie tried to move and dropped as the floor began to rattle. How could no one else see this but them? Danny kept droning on, cracking wise at the podium, gesturing. The Creedence on the radio sounded like a tape unwinding; whining through the air. Below the valleys in the floor, there was heat - howling, noisy, restless heat. Hell itself snapped its teeth up at them, long tongues of flame and clawing, skeletal hands.

“Jesus Fuck,” was all Eddie could think to say. Matt flinched an ear, but - shaken back to the moment, swung in to drag him away from the edge. 

“Stay put,” Matt told him - Eddie didn’t even have a chance to note how the tables had turned. Matt bounded off immediately - Elektra steering the still-struggling Peter toward the back of the hall. With a snap of his tail like a whip, Matt wrenched one of her arms free of Peter - who dropped and rolled to the floor with a hoarse yelp, scrabbling back as far as he could. Elektra turned, eyes full of hate, and snapped anew.

“This is why you were **_MADE_** , Matthew--” But she was interrupted by the _roar_ like a forest catching fire; a spray of flame in an arc _unfurling_ toward her; slapping her clear across the emptied foyer toward the still-ringing clock. Something ticked in Eddie’s head as he wobbled to his feet.

“ **_NO_ ** ,” Matt snarled, cinders spitting between his teeth, “this is why  _ you made me. _ I  _ make myself,  _ now!”

“How did y--it  _ BURNS, _ ” Elektra protested, slapping smoke off herself with a shriek of dismay. “How does it burn? You’re like me! You’re - we are the SAME, Matthew--”

“We are not,” Matt said firmly, face twisted with disdain, “you tried to make me like you. To bring out the worst in me. But I will not be broken. I am healing. I  _ will  _ heal. I choose this. I choose. And I  _ am. _ ” With a whirl of motion, Matt swung up and lashed out with his back feet, hands on the floor. He didn’t touch her, but the kick swept another wave of fire over Elektra, flattening her against the great grandfather clock now beginning to shiver and crack. 

The penny dropped for Eddie. In the surface of the clock’s face, he could see the hands moving rapidly - moon phase to moon phase - back and forth. _Time moves strangely in this place._ Time. **_Time._** _Cuckoo,_ sang the Chamber Brothers on the Halloween radio. 

Without thinking, Eddie reached for the nearest auction item waiting to be taken up to the podium, and, unthinking, raised it high. The cold iron slipped in his sweaty fingers. Elektra cocked her head, glittering gaze suddenly interested despite the way her skin still smoldered from Matt’s fiery advances.

“Don’t,” Matt warned sharply, springing upright. “Eddie, don’t - don’t be like her. Don’t be angry.  _ Ed-die. _ ” 

“I know, Matty,” Eddie whispered, watching Elektra scrape soot off herself with heaving breaths. Her burning gaze lifted and she opened her mouth to scream - 

“We aren’t like her,” the three boys said as one - and Eddie threw the fire-poker in his hand like a javelin. High above Elektra, the metal hit home - the heart of the clock; its center, its gears. The face splintered explosively in a shower of glass, raining down over a woman like magma made flesh.

For a moment, there was nothing but crushing silence. The clock’s gears ground, copper whimpering. Then, little by little, the item began to twitch. Like a living thing in the throes of death, it tossed and arced. Elektra jolted, trying to shimmy away, but the door to its innards popped open - glowing so hotly bright that two of the trio had to duck backwards; shielding their eyes. Only Matt stood motionless, watching.

“Matthew,” Elektra cried out, the deep, roaring fire within the clock a fiery vortex into which all gravity fell, “please -  _ please  _ \- don’t leave me! You said you would never leave me!” Matt, impassive, set his jaw and slid his hands behind his back. The forked tail curled around his ankles, and, even as the breeze from Hell below threatened to bowl him over and suck him in, too, Matt said, so soft to the air it was more thought than word or deed:

“I forgive you.” A smile, contemptuous, tired, tugged at the corner of his lips. “But you’re a liar. Live with that sin.”

Her scream was swallowed by the inferno as the clock bulged; gulping her back down to Hell as the door distorted and cracked, starting to buckle. The hallway she’d warped began to unweave, beams falling back into place. A winking, orange eye like that of Sauron stared Matt down as the remaining demon began to waver, knees wobbling. Peter lunged for him the moment he could move again, fear unlocking the chains from his ankles - his arms wrapping tight around Matt without letting go as they both dropped to the floor that repaired itself with clicking tiles. 

Applause broke out through the air as Eddie dropped to his knees beside Matt and Peter, gasping for breath in the wake of it all. The busted clock was the only remnant of the aftermath. Everything cooled; everything quieted, save for the music, the mirth, and the mingling of the party just out of their reach. Undetected by means they might never understand, together fully at last, all three of the men who’d just saved the world - or at least a good portion of it - gathered themselves as best they could. Peter started to laugh. Eddie started to sob. Matt sat between them, enveloped in their arms, dazed beyond belief.

He hadn’t been taken. 

He was...forgiven.

In forgiving, he - too - could be…

Little by little, his hands rose to clasp Eddie and Peter’s arms, head bowing into their embrace. Tail coiling up, body curling tight, Matt let himself be held. Shivering uncontrollably -  _ cold _ ! He was...cold, he realized, for the first time since he’d been made real, up here, again - Matt sighed. A world-weary sigh of relief. 

He was home. Not Hell. Not Murdock House. Not Heaven. Just here, in Peter’s arms. In Eddie’s. 

They’d chosen him. And he’d chosen them. 

And Matt knew that he had chosen  _ well. _

“...You guys okay?” A voice asked from above. Startled, they all bunched together more tightly, lifting their heads almost as a unit; a legion, to turn toward the speaker. Foggy stood there, tiny jack-o-lantern cup in hand, a bit of smoke trailing off its contents under a tiny paper umbrella patterned in stars, moons, and bats. Bemused, the lawyer lifted the drink to his lips to blow on it, adding, “nice costume, by the way.”

“...Thanks,” Matt said faintly, still disoriented. “I’m a demon.” Foggy laughed, and Peter joined in, anxiously tittering. 

“What - what happened?” Peter managed to say, “with the um - with the auction…” Eddie kissed his cheek instinctively, grateful for someone bringing them back to the moment, whatever it was - so strange and so normal. His phone, vibrating enthusiastically in his pocket, went off with the same notifications of endless; positive, sparkly emojis around the repeated message of “ _ YOU DID IT YOU DID IT YOU DID IT”.  _ Not bothering to check in further, Eddie caught the tail-end of Foggy’s response, Matt snuggling into the crook of his shoulder.

“--the philanthropy unit got the manor overall, and we’ll negotiate with educators on contracting it out for a new purpose. Also - it looks like Eddie won the piano.”

“Oh,” said Eddie distantly, Matt shooting upright with the last of his strength to swivel Eddie’s way. “Right. Surprise,” he mumbled, shrugging his shoulders. Heat like fire spread through his ears as Peter kissed his brow and Matt threw his arms around him from where they sat on the floor.

Behind them, the last of the clock faded away into golden dust that glazed the walls, energy traveling up, the doorway sealed for good. Other doorways opened in the house, softly. Wayward spirits, finally released, began to vacate the premises. Arm-in-arm, many of them waltzed out over the pumpkin patch and into the night, hems of gowns and glimmering, tailored suits becoming one with the ether. Forgiveness pervaded everything. Murdock House sagged with relief; settling one last time onto its foundation:

_ Love  _ had saved the world. 

At least, that’s what the three unlikely heroes of Halloween believed.


	20. EPILOGUE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for Book II, and, if you read this far, thanks for reading! :>

**EPILOGUE:**

_ November 2nd found the Quill household lively with music. The piano, freshly-transferred to the living room by the stairs - a new set of stairs - was polished and tuned. One key had been repaired, and a pedal had been adjusted. The seat was freshly-cushioned, and braille sheet music set out was ignored for now in favor of Matt pursuing the sounds in his head instead. He put love into it, as he did everything now, tail coiled loosely around one leg of the bench. _

_ Peter was singing along in the kitchen, nonsensical syllables, doing dishes with sways of his body, bumping Eddie every so often as the other man cooked at the counter, Halloween apron exchanged for one embellished with a few leaves at the breast. Rain tapped on the window, wanting in, but the warmth of their hearth stayed cozy. Everything was at peace, everything was overjoyed. Matt smiled to himself as he listened to his boys, caught the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg, and finally relented in his pursuit of music in favor of something else. _

_ One step, and he was between them, perpetually amused by the shrieks Eddie made - even now - and Peter’s gleeful “Matty!” that meant he’d be picked up and swung around [so he was] like the man hadn’t seen his demon in weeks. _

_ “You need a little clove,” Matt informed Eddie, muffled against Peter’s chest. “Can I help?” Eddie ruffled his hair between his horns and kissed his forehead, beaming. The smile rippled between them - men who chose affection over anger. Passion redirected for happier things than sin, war, and sanctimonious sacrifice. _

_ “Please do. Friendsgiving always stresses me out. But all our friends can’t wait to meet you properly, Matty…” Matt smiled a little, arm slipping around Peter’s middle. _

_ “It’s nice,” he said softly, “to have the choice.” _

_ Choice was a human construct, after all. _

_ And here, beside the men he loved -  _ **_loved_ ** _! -  _

_ Matt of Murdock House; of Quill, felt more human every day. _


	21. Friendsgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We kick off Book II of this series with a little suspenseful socially-anxious gathering. You know, as you do.

##  Book II: To Everything There is a Season

###  _ “You want to build a cabin in the woods?” _

Peter’s tone was torn between skeptical and delighted. Eddie grinned at him over the newspaper, his feet up on the desk as the three of them lounged in the living room together. Outside, cold November quaked the leaves and made the rain dance haphazardly in scattered particles across the road. Brooklyn was quiet for a Saturday morning - the entire place sleepy post-Halloween.

It was hard to think it’d only been a week since everything had gone down at Murdock House. And it had been an official week, with specific days, packages delivered, and expiration dates in the fridge. Time was moving the way it was supposed to again, and they could make plans for the future. 

All of them.

_ Together. _

“Yup,” Eddie said, dramatically shaking out the newspaper in his hands before snuggling further into his seat, “I’m thinking two-story, heated floors, waterfall shower, jacuzzi tub…”

“Mm, baby, talk interior fixings to me,” Peter teased, and giggled with glee when he saw the tips of Eddie’s ears tint red. Matt, contentedly sprawled on his lap as Peter sat on the floor going through his comics, thrummed a happy note and stretched, fingers and toes flexing with a little clench of claws. Golden eyes, half-lidded, glowed in sleepy relief.

“It’s just an idea, anyway,” Eddie mumbled, folding up the paper after finishing the police log - always a ride, that one. One hand swept through his dark hair - gone fully were the Summer streaks of highlighted gold; the faint reminders of childhood. Winter was coming, and he’d meant to shave days ago, but the chilly bite in the air urged him not to. Besides - 

And there was Matt, like he’d read Eddie’s mind, his cheek rubbing repeatedly against Eddie’s own, the bristles met with chuffing laughter as the demon purred in his ear. Peter beamed up at them both from the floor before kicking himself upright, long legs stumbling from how long he’d let Matt lay atop him - it’d been a good hour and a half to two hours now, lazily making their way through their Saturday morning. It was nearing noon - 

And while they were used to having all the time in the world, they had places to go and people to see today. 

“Big day for little demons,” Eddie murmured, turning to lightly mouth the pointy ear beside his head. Matt chuckled, one hand reaching up to scritch Eddie’s scruffy face.

“Not much little about me, Ed-die,” he remarked smugly - then stepped back with a motion to himself. The glamour shimmered to life, leaving Matt bare as ever, freckled, and human. Eddie instinctively lifted the newspaper to block the - the display - whereas Peter happily hugged him from behind, peppering Matt’s face with a myriad of kisses. Grinning from ear to ear, Matt turned to rise on his toes and kiss Peter on the lips instead - both of them briefly leaving the ground. Lighter than air. 

“Okay - okay,” Eddie sighed, setting the newspaper down again before swinging his legs off his desk and getting to his feet. “Peter - pillows back on the couch. Go - put on a shirt that doesn’t have holes in it -”

“But this is a classic,” Peter protested, a finger wiggling through one of the  _ very small and manageable holes  _ in his Coca-Cola t-shirt. Eddie’s eyes narrowed and Peter huffed, stomping off to the bedroom [but not before kissing Eddie’s temple on the way - a drive-by affection]. Eddie glanced back at Matt, who offered him a sharp little smile; all edges implicating mischief. 

“And you - go put on clothes you don’t hate.” Matt laughed softly, then leaned up to kiss Eddie’s nose, nuzzling into the side of his face. The motion slowed, Matt settling back on the flats of his feet after a moment or two, one hand curling loosely around Eddie’s wrist.

“...your friends,” Matt asked, hesitance entering his voice, “they will...be okay? With me?” Eddie’s eyes rounded, the trepidation coming off Matt in waves enough to damn near break his heart. One arm swung up to draw him close, the other joining in to crush him in the gentlest of bear hugs.

“Of  _ course  _ they will,” Eddie murmured fiercely, “what’s not to be okay with? Trust me, Matty. You’ll be fine.” Matt huffed, then tucked his face closer to the crook of Eddie’s neck, and finally withdrew. Burning cedar scent, clove, and coriander coiled between them before Matt nodded, accepting. Discs of topaz crinkled at the corners; molten. 

“Soft man,” he teased Eddie, then slunk away to do as he was told - a rarity, but a welcome one.

Eddie cleaned himself up with a shave after all, bemused by the fact that they all wound up wearing matching red flannels for the event ahead - Matt’s of course the softest of the lot, with a broad grid pattern, Peter’s a near-threadbare; well-loved item over a t-shirt for Captain EO. Eddie insisted Peter at least put on a jacket - the bomber Eddie’d thrifted him when they’d first started dating, with an emblazoned star on the back - and he’d obliged, “if only so you stop worrying so much.” 

“Well, ex _ cuse  _ me, Mr. Quill, for not wanting my husband to freeze his nips off on the walk over…”

Friendsgiving - which he’d practiced for, in the sense that he’d boiled down apples with herbs and spices for a pie filling a week or so prior - decompression from Hell-oween, as it was swiftly being referred to as - of course. The pie under his arm in its recycled paper box was tied with twine; its interiors a vegan bake for one of their friends with a sensitive stomach - atop it, hand-pies of varying flavors rested in a smaller basket around a bottle of wine. 

They decided to stroll the distance to Carlton’s place, the walk to Bushwick a long one, but one that got the jitters out of them - in theory. The umbrella, wide and black as bat wings, sheltered them from the rain - though Peter kept leaning out from under it to try and catch the drops on his tongue, and Matt snapped his teeth at the sprinkles likewise. Only Eddie, upright and amused, remained thoroughly unbothered by the weather as they made their way to their appointed destination.

Carlton’s shiny loft was a renovated piece he’d asked for Eddie’s input on - but in the end, contracted someone else out with the suggestions submitted. Namely because Eddie and Peter preferred their refurbished, vintage things - and Carlton, well. Carlton was fonder of the newer stuff. The sleek interior was a black and white ensemble with a few mahogany-wood accents, high ceilings and broad windows. In fact, most of it seemed made of glass for how wide the openings were - but this full of people; pleasantly-crowded, it was a welcome amount of space.

“Hey, Pete, Eddie,” Foggy was the first to greet them through the door, a kiss to either of their faces before shaking Matt’s hand when offered. “And - Matt?” They exchanged smiles, Matt from behind tinted glasses and Foggy from around the slight fuzz of a wintry beard well on its way. “No-Shave November,” he confirmed, gesturing to his face - and Eddie nodded in agreement as the pies were lovingly extracted from his arms.

“How’ve you been since…” Peter stopped himself mid-sentence, once again confronted by the fact that...not everyone had the same experience they did when it came to the events at Murdock House. But the pause dragged on too long to be anything but theatrical, and Peter struggled to work his way back out of the dramatic lull. “Incident,” he landed on, then grimaced. “I mean the - event. The - auction. Sorry, my brain just…” A soft whistle and a flick from head to temple followed. “Gonezo. Too much candy.”

“No such thing,” Foggy remarked, smile curling knowingly at the corner of his mouth. “And I’ve been fine. Been going over the plans with Danny for the school. Still in need of some names and stuff for the reformat - offices; wings, that kinda thing. Maybe you guys can swing up next weekend and have a look-around again. See what we’re up to now that it’s underway.”

“That sounds great, Fog,” Peter said brightly, and Matt’s smile wavered - then grew, the demon bobbing a nod along. Nothing to fear now. Nothing in that house was anything but sleepy walls, ceilings, and floors. The gate had closed, and that was that. 

This was - normal, now.

Matt could do [and have]  _ normal. _

“So, Matt,” Foggy slung an arm around his shoulders as Peter, sidetracked by another friend, briefly pulled himself away to envelop that friend - who smelled of metal and sweat - in a hug. Eddie, distracted by something else, meandered off to take a call. For a moment, Matt floundered, eyes wide behind his spectacles - 

But Foggy was warm, and oddly comforting, the plush pressure of his arm something familiar without him ever knowing it. He smelled like cheeses and meats and homey things, papers, leather, and glossy magazines. The watch on his wrist was ticking two seconds slower than it should’ve, and he’d had a few chocolate caramels on his walk over. Matt’s nose crinkled, though his smile slid back into place. 

“Yes - uh - Foggy, was it?” Normal.  _ Normal. _

He’d sat with Eddie and Peter for hours, listening to them talk about their friends over cups of cocoa full of little marshmallows shaped like pumpkins.

_ This one’s Foggy Nelson. His real name’s Franklin but - everyone calls him Foggy - he’s a lawyer, and he’s one of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet. Good heart. This is Bucky! He’s my pal from when I first got to the city. Showed me around, introduced me to folks. He’s kind of a staple around here. He’s a veteran. Oh - and this one is Jessica, though different from the witch Jessica… _

In truth, it was mostly Peter excitedly exploding about how much he loved their “peeps” as he called them as Eddie tried to keep the conversation on-topic as much as possible. A  _ broad  _ overview, meant to be  _ slightly  _ less-biased than the usual, but - 

Love always made it hard to be without bias. So Eddie said, anyway. Matt felt he needed to read more about bias to fully understand what on earth it was supposed to be, but - for now, he could come back to the moment and hope for the best. 

Foggy felt like love, though - in a different way.

“Yep, that’s me - what’s your story, Matt? When did you start hanging out with the guys?” The instantaneous interrogation threw him a curveball, but - Matt only grinned, bemused by the force of Foggy’s inquisition. 

“Well…” Okay, they’d rehearsed this. They’d also determined Matt was, in Peter’s words, “a  _ really  _ flarkin’ bad liar”, so - 

“We met at work,” Matt said. That was the truth. Foggy shifted a little in place, considering. “I - showed up for the Murdock House project.” Already he could feel the weariness settling into his mouth - the heaviness that came from a tongue that ever-so-quickly tired of talking. Were this just Matt and his boys, he might’ve switched avenues - “ _ telepathy ahoy, _ ” Peter’d say - but in the spirit of wanting to play nice; play  _ normal -  _ he pressed on.

“I was...a built-in from the beginning, you might say.” That was  _ close  _ to what Eddie had suggested. Judging by the appreciative hum Foggy made, he seemed to accept it - and Matt felt himself jostled by the rubbing of his arm; the other man ushering him toward the kitchen promptly. 

“Okay, well - tell me more over some punch, alright? I think Carlton’s dying for people to try his - blood orange nonsense.” The star anise and cider scents hit his nose and Matt sneezed, thankfully far from the drink in question - “bless you,” came the autoresponse from Foggy. Matt flinched; expecting that to burn like it always did - 

But the blessing came and went, and, to his surprise, no prickle of discomfort followed. His hand curled around a little glass goblet as Foggy began chattering about how  _ he  _ met Peter and Eddie at a Habitat for Humanity event in Midtown - and Matt realized this might actually be easier than he thought. At least, for now.

“So how’d you meet him?” Bucky was running the same list of queries Foggy’d done for Matt, his piercing blue stare seeing  _ right  _ through Peter’s to-be-bullshitting-you-shortly expression. A twinkle in his green-brown eyes, Peter shoved a home-made munchkin into his mouth, speaking around the doughy goodie promptly:

“By ma’fick.” Bucky arched a brow, and Peter hastily swallowed. “I said, ‘by magic’. Or - something like it. I dunno. It’s complicated. But he’s here now, and he’s great,” Peter motioned with an arm and swung around to beam at Matt in the kitchen - who, somehow, despite not seeing the wave all the way across the open space in the living room, twiddled a couple of fingers over the side of his glass their way. Bucky grunted, arms crossed, prosthetic shining in the light. 

“I think you’re full of shit,” he informed Peter, who grinned down at him, crumbs on his face. Bucky freed a hand to brush them away, sighing. “But if that’s what makes you happy, I ain’t fussed. He seems like a nice guy. Quiet, kinda, maybe. I should go say hi.”

“You  _ should, _ ” Peter said brightly, and, before Bucky could protest, snagged him by the shirt to tug him Matt’s way, a bounce of pure joy in his step.

“Matty - this is Bucky, he’s the one I told you about from before,” Peter said, just about headlong colliding with Foggy in his efforts to squeeze behind the kitchen island with him and Matt. Bucky lifted a hand in greeting, then paused, brow furrowing. Matt flashed him a polite smile, merely waiting - and Bucky looked at Peter, then back to Matt in realization.

“Oh - hey. Nice to meet you.”  _ Blind? _ He mouthed to Peter, who nodded gently. Matt’s smile flickered, but sparked back to life as Bucky clasped him on the shoulder, squeezing softly. “Bucky, as mentioned.”

“Matt, as mentioned. Sans ‘y’ at the end,” he added with a smirk behind his glass. 

“What’s wrong with a ‘y’ at the end?” Bucky fired back, brows lifting. Peter beamed at Foggy, who simply shook his head with a little sigh. Off to the races.

“Hey, jackass.” Jessica gently socked Eddie in the shoulder with a wry smile shot his way, and, in the process of hanging up from a client call, Eddie promptly lifted an arm to drag her in and crush her to his side. “Ugh - no - not a hugger - “ 

“Drew,” Eddie cautioned dryly, tucking the phone away, “come within arm’s reach and brace for impact. ‘Specially when I’m trying to drum up a job during the off-season. How’ve you been?” Jessica squirmed free and ran a hand through her dark hair to fix it - almost to no avail - scrunching her face up at him. 

“Enough about me, let’s talk about you.”

“But you haven’t said anything y--” cut off by a finger in his face, Eddie sighed. When Jessica didn’t wanna talk about herself, there wasn’t a force on earth that could nudge her in any other direction. “Okay, well - what do you wanna talk about?”

“The third,” her chin jutted in Matt’s direction. “This a swinger situation?” Eddie nearly choked on his drink, the cider snorting up his nose and burning in his sinuses. Jessica didn’t smile, but a smug flicker caught the corner of her mouth. “You pick him from a mail-order magazine?”

“No - not exactly, no,” Eddie said, voice slightly strained. “We - met at work.” And while he’d determined Matt to be a terrible liar, in truth, Eddie quite literally wasn’t much better. “He’s - he’s great, though, Matt,” best to just dance around the subject at hand, he figured, “he’s - really out of this world.” Okay, well, a step too far, possibly. Jessica arched an eyebrow, hands on her hips. 

“...Well - if you guys like him, I’m sure everyone else will, too,” she muttered finally, shrugging with her hands. Eddie peered down at her; still wheedling. 

“Including you?” Her dark eyes narrowed, but Jessica acquiesced; grudgingly, with a nod.

“Probably. He seems less annoying than you, at any rate.”

“Wowww,” Eddie drawled, and felt the telltale nudge at his side - Carlton, making his grand appearance at last, having finally slipped free of his other guests. Dark eyes darted between Jessica and Eddie, and the smallest of smiles crossed his lips. 

In many ways, Carlton Drake was an odd and particular man, sort of a recluse in the queer community at large in the city - but one that donated generously to education programs, housing units, and scientific research ventures. Entrepreneurship was his bread and butter, and through those avenues, he’d met the majority of the people here - in many ways, they had him to thank for bringing them all together.

“Jessica. Edward,” he greeted them, each of them raising a glass in return [that they clinked together; acknowledging the similarity]. “I trust the party’s to your liking?”

“Oh, yes, absolutely,” Jessica said, adopting the air of some 1920’s debutante, her voice dropping considerably, “Ah’ve found absolutely no complaints whatsoever to voice.” Eddie nudged her with an elbow as she sipped her drink, and grimaced a little when her foot stomped gently on his.

“Good, I’m glad to hear it.” Carlton met Eddie’s gaze warmly. “You and your husband are good?”

“Real good, Carlton,” Eddie replied, smile crooked. “We brought another friend for you to meet, besides.” He motioned with his head, and Peter caught his eye from across the apartment, snagging Matt by the elbow to eject him from a debate with Foggy and Bucky over something or another. “This is Matt,” Eddie said, one hand sliding up to clasp his neck once the other man - the demon - was in reach. His fingers found the soft spots behind his ears and squeezed gently, kneading in circles. Matt bit back a chirp of surprise, eyes half-closing, and lifted his chin as Eddie’s hand fell down between his shoulders instead.

“Hey Carlton,” Peter added brightly, one arm around Matt’s waist. Carlton blinked; slow, methodical, mechanical, as if processing. Eddie waited for questions to come, for something to happen, but for a moment, there was nothing - 

Nothing save the faint crease of Matt’s brow, the slow-dawning realization of an item unknown, and the scent in the air shifting from cozy spices to a little more bristling charcoal. 

“...Nice to meet you,” Carlton said finally - and Matt jolted as if struck, pressed back into the hands at his back from Eddie and Peter; confused. His senses swam - something about the other man wavered in the  _ worst  _ way, as if he was - something else. Wearing the wrong skin. The wrong pose. He was - wrong. His mind and spirit just clamored for purchase against the wet scent of his skin; the jangle of animal instinct that set his teeth quite literally on edge; made him feel cornered - 

“Matt’s just - he’s shy,” Peter was saying, turning and wrapping his arms around Matt to crush him against his chest. Matt resisted the urge to squirm, his heart hammering.  _ Not safe,  _ it rapped impatiently on his ribs,  _ not-safe-not-safe-not-safe. _ “But he’s pleased to be here, Carlton. Place looks real nice since the reno.”

“Thank you, Peter - I’ll be back in a bit, I just need to go check on a few other folks, and - Eddie -” Carlton’s hand caught his chest as Eddie, concerned, stepped in toward Peter and Matt - the glow of one golden eye still bright behind a pair of rose-colored glasses.

“Let’s catch up privately in a bit, okay? I just need to go over something with you.” Carlton’s smile flashed, brief and bright, before he slid away.

Something uneasy hung in the atmosphere after that, Jessica glancing between the three suddenly-tense men with a curious eye.

“We’re just -” Peter, still cradling Matt to his chest, began to walk away backwards, scooping him after a moment or two, “gonna - get some air real quick. He - we all need air, don’t we?”

“I too need air,” Eddie said, and, glancing back at the room, ducked back out of the apartment with a warier gait. 

The moment they returned to the cool November rain, under the alcove of the steps leading up to Carlton’s place, Matt slithered free, turning his face to Peter; to Eddie, speaking cold and clear:

“That man’s not human.”

“...well,” Eddie said faintly, once silence had its say, “so much for nice and normal.”


End file.
